From Child to Hero
by WhimsicalShmoo
Summary: A Hetalia-fied History of the good old US of A. Various implied pairings, maybe. We'll see where this goes.
1. Chapter 1

**'Ello. This is my attempt to make something out of my mandatory year of US History. Seeing as I'll be learning all about Alfred this year, I figured I'd make him his own drabbleish story about all that goes on. The chapters will be pretty short, but I feel like I'll update more or less frequently. I'm currently trying to decide how far I should go with this and when/how it will end. No clue yet...so we'll see. I don't think this has been done yet. I hope not...**

**There are no stories under the filter for Spain and America, by the way. Just found that interesting.**

* * *

America was only a child when Spain first saw him. An innocent child, peaceful and untainted with the ways of the world. So easy to convince, so easy to gain the trust of.

When Spain arrived that fateful fall morning, America had been running about on the land, mud on his cheeks, leaves in his hair, not a single stitch on him. Immediately Spain had known, had known who the wild little boy was. A Nation.

He was blond and blue-eyed, fair-skinned unlike the loathsome savages inhabiting this New World. Spain saw opportunity in that. Opportunity to take in the child, and make him a proper Christian before he would learn to know any different. Win him over, before sending his soldiers in to take what riches they could from this mysterious new land. Too easy, too easy. He had done it so many times before.

America—the foolish, _foolish_ boy—had come right up to him, gazing up with awe at the boat looming behind him and observing with curious, innocent eyes the way the sun shone off the metal of the guns.

"_¡Hola!_" Spain greeted, allowing a cheery smile to take over his features. Charm the boy. Reassure him.

"Hi!" the other replied, a bright grin creasing his childish face. He couldn't be more than five in appearance. "Who are…? That animal…I never saw it before. And the shiny things…what are…?"

Another step forward, a comforting pat on the head. "My name is Spain. I come from a land far away, over the ocean. Would you like to be friends, _chiquito_?"

"Chick…keet…" America's brow furrowed slightly in consternation, his lips forming a poutish frown of thought. But his expression resumed its naïve cheerfulness after a short moment. "You talk funny. I would…be your friend."

"_¡Muy bien…muy bien!_" Spain smiled happily, taking the young boy's hand. He led him off, into the tall grass and scattered trees a mile or so in from the beach. "I'm sure you have many questions, _chiquito_. Ask away. But first, your name…?" The European feigned ignorance.

"America!" the younger Nation replied. So openly, so trustingly, as if it had never and would never cross his mind that his new "friend" were being anything but sincere.

Before he could reply, Spain felt a sharp tug at his hand. Realizing the boy was trying to take him off somewhere, he allowed himself to be pulled along, the carefree, jolly smile never wavering. "I show you something!"

It would be so easy, so terribly terribly easy. So easy to deceive this boy, so easy to hurt him. He would never even see it coming.

* * *

**Historical facts/notes: On October 12th, 1492, Christopher Columbus set foot in the West Indies, an Italian-born explorer that was sailing under the sponsorship of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain. He thought he had landed in India, having been trying to find an alternate route to Asia. His mentality did not change the next several times he landed here…he still insisted it was Asia - -' He was a bright one. Very stubborn, if nothing else.**

**The Spanish were not at all kind to the native people of the Americas, but we'll get to that more next chapter. I'm not intending to be offensive at all, but with all the Ethnocentrism going on then, I'm just trying to keep it in character. These are not my opinions whatsoever. I'm just trying to be accurate for the time period, so I apologize in advance if anyone is offended.**

**Reviews help me ace my history quizzes, which makes me get good grades, which let's me keep my computer to write with…**

**Maybe. By the way, I am human and thus prone to errors. While I'm pretty certain I got this bit down, if I screw anything up, just give me a nudge, and I'll look into it. Grazie.**

**America talks like that to show the communication issues between the Spanish and the Native Americans...it didn't work out that well. But speaking of communication issues, someone brought up that it would be a good idea to put in Spanish translations, so here it goes:**

_**¡Hola!:**_** Hello! (I think everyone knows this one, but just in case.)**

_**chiquito: **_**'Chico' means boy, adding '-ito' to the end of words means 'little' and is often used for affectionate terminology. So 'little boy' more or less.**

_**¡Muy bien…muy bien!:**_** Very good...very good!**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is really quick updating for me, but the chapters are a lot shorter than what I usually write as well. I must say I like the set up. **

**Those of you that took the time to review, thank you very much. They were very much appreciated :] I honestly wasn't expecting any, but I am glad. Hopefully this chapter lives up to your expectations. Let me know if I goof up. I'm just waiting for it to happen...**

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"I don't like this…" America whispered one day, looking over at Spain who sat only a few feet away. "You wouldn't…you said. Said it wouldn't. But…hurt. Why?"

The older Nation sighed, folding his arms across his knees. "It's for the best, _chiquito_. I'm trying to help. It might hurt now, but I'm helping you and your people. One day you will see."

"My people…don't want," America protested, tears beginning to prick at the corners of his eyes. "Why hurt them? Why are…?"

"_Chiquito, confía en mí_," Spain assured, patting the young Nation's head consolingly. "I'm saving your people from _el Diablo_. It's for their own sake."

"El…dee…blow," the blond repeated, in between the beginnings of choked sobs. Small grubby hands scrubbed at suddenly streaming blue eyes. "That…what?"

"_El Diablo_," the European repeated, pulling the child to him in a comforting hug. "They need to convert, lest they rot for eternity in the fires of Hell." His voice grew suddenly harsh with the last words, but soon quieted off to his normal pleasant tone. "After the hurt, everything will be better. We'll be friends, and your people will be happy and safe. Just wait, _chiquito_. _Sea paciente._"

Slowly, the boy stopped crying, and a small twinge plucked at the Spaniard's heart. So innocent, so young. Was it really right to make him suffer like this?

He didn't deserve it, but it was for the best. Those heathens would be forever damned unless they were Christianized! His missionaries were working on it, slowly molding the natives as best they could. The work they had to perform was merely compensation for saving them, repayment for keeping them from sin.

And the treasures looted from the defeated tribes? The slaughtering of those who did not respond to his warnings? How were those justified? It was greed, Spain knew it. Greed for the riches and gold this world had to offer, contempt for those who inhabited it. Not all his people were as kind as those who ran the missionaries.

But America needn't know that. No. He only needed to be pacified, placated while Spain took what he needed. Time would pass, and he would grow used to it. The pain would stop. Spain didn't want to hurt the boy, it was merely necessary.

Necessary. What an ambiguous word.

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**Historical notes/facts:** **La Leyenda Negra (The Black Legend) was a tale of how cruelly the Spanish treated the Native Americans. In their missionaries in the New Mexico area, they often used the natives for labor, giving them little if anything in return. Some were, however, genuinely interested in spreading Christianity for the benefit of the natives.**

**Elsewhere, as the explorers went about through the different American tribes, they read them proclamations pretty much demanding they convert to Christianity and accept their king as their leader at once. They often delivered them in Spanish, out of Indian earshot, warning them that things would become violent if their terms were not met. They kept true to their word, and attacked once their terms were "rejected" often decimating their enemies. To be fair, the English were just as bad when they came. But we'll get to that later on. **

**I'm trying not to be offensive with this, but I feel like I'm failing. Please let me know if I'm going too far. Or if I make any mistakes. For my Spanish as well. I'm in Italian now, but I should hope my 4 years of Spanish are doing the trick. **

**Anyway, I hope everyone is liking it so far. Take care. **

**Translations:**

_**Chiquito, confía en mí**_**: Little boy, trust me**

_**el Diablo**_**: the Devil**

_**Sea paciente**_**: Be patient.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Are these getting shorter? I feel like they are. I have to work on that OTL Anyway, sorry for the gap. School and stuff, yeah. I'm afraid they'll happen quite often. Sorry.**

* * *

America darted through the woods, immersed in his games and once again the child he had been before Spain arrived. For this moment, it was just him and the imaginary deer he was hunting. The wind in his hair, and the branches brushing against his skin, the soft underbrush beneath his feet. No Spanish invaders, no death, no pain. No worries.

It was in this carefree mindset that his eyes settled upon something. Or more specifically, someone, moving through the forest not far off. A flicker of blond hair, lighter than his own. America moved closer, stealthily, sneaking up on his subject of interest.

It was a young man, maybe around Spain's age. He wore coverings like the Spaniard's and carried a similar weapon as well. But there were also differences, namely his eyebrows. They were _thick_, so very thick. America inched closer to get a better look…

…And a branch cracked underfoot.

The mysterious blond glanced over, his bright green eyes (the same green as Spain's) staring straight into America's own blue. Shock, and…what was that? Disgust, confusion...fear? He couldn't say.

But the younger blond blinked, and the man was gone, vanished as quickly as he had come. For awhile America looked around, curious as any healthy boy his age would be, but to no avail.

Sometime nearing sunset, another figure made its presence known. But this one was familiar, becoming more so with each day. Spain. His hair was tussled more than usual, a slight air of exhaustion about his person.

"Spain, I…" America began, as if searching for the right words. "Saw…a man. Eyebrows…"

Spain gave a slight chuckle, before regaining a more serious expression. "I don't want you going near him, _chiquito_. Not under any conditions, no matter what he says. Can you promise me that?"

"Why?" the boy questioned, eyes wide with excitement and interest. "He seem…"

"I have my reasons," Spain interrupted, before softening his tone and reaching forward to ruffle the young boy's hair. "Just keep to yourself, all right, _chiquito_? It's for the best."

America nodded vaguely, not really meaning it. But the older Nation smiled nonetheless, mussing the other's hair a bit more, affectionately, before withdrawing. "_Bien, bien…hasta luego, chiquito."_

The young Nation gazed after Spain's back, mind working. It seemed a lot of things were "for the best" lately. A lot of things. Were they really…were they…?

America, curious and dubious of the Spaniard's words, decided he would try and go look for the mysterious man. If he was careful, Spain would never know...

* * *

**Historical Notes: The brief appearance of England was sort of meant to represent the Roanoke Colony founded by Sir Walter Raleigh in Virginia (1587). He set that up, but when he went back to England for supplies, he was held up on returning for a couple of years because of the Spanish Armada (which I'll be getting into next chapter most likely). When he finally returned, the colony was gone. Nobody knows where it went. But England will be back...eventually.**

**I'm probably leaving some key stuff out, but I'm just working with what my history book gives me, and trying to make a comprehensible story out of it. Doing my best :]**

**Thank you for reading! Reviews are muchly appreciated~**

**Translations: **

_**Bien, bien…hasta luego, chiquito:**_** Good, good...see you later, little boy.**


	4. Chapter 4

America had been seeing less and less of Spain lately. The few times he did see the Spaniard were scattered and brief, the older Nation merely asserting once again that America should not go near that man he had seen the other day. England—he had finally been given a name for the vague persona.

Undeterred, America continued searching for this new Nation he was being warned so thoroughly against. Every now and again he grew bored and digressed onto other games, but that didn't stop him from looking about for this "England" whenever his fancy returned.

Spain was tired these days, so tired. At first the young Nation had thought he was merely imagining things, but sure enough, there were the circles under those brilliant green eyes and the slight lack of spring in his step as proof. It seemed each symptom grew more pronounced every time he saw the Spaniard. And America, being the curious young lad he was, eventually brought it up.

"I'm fighting now, _chiquito_," Spain answered in a drained voice, slumping in the shade of a tree. He looked about ready to doze off there and then.

"Who?" America came to sit next to the older Nation, interest captured.

"England," the title was some mixture of a sigh and curse. "He's been getting too big for his breeches as of late, _chiquito_. We decided to take him down a couple of notches, but…things are not going quite as well as I hoped."

"Losing?" the blond inquired, a sympathetic tone coming into his voice. When Spain gave an exhausted nod of confirmation, the boy sidled up to him, hugging his arm in what he thought to be a comforting manner. "Everything…be right. You see." And he smiled widely, showing the missing gap of one of his front teeth, the tiny nubs of the new tooth just beginning to poke through.

The European couldn't help but smile back, a genuine grin coming onto his face for the first time in what felt like ages. "_Gracias, chiquito_. I apologize for everything…_No me lo merezco. Pero me alegro de que seamos amigos_. Even though our people still…"

America, missing most of what was spoken, but concentrating on the bits he had understood, continued smiling back warmly. "It be right," he repeated, as Spain hugged him back with his free arm momentarily, before getting to his feet. "It be right…"

"_Sí, chiquito_," he ruffled the blond locks affectionately, before turning to leave. "_Espero que tengas razón...ten cuidado ¡Adios!_"

* * *

It was a week or two later (America could never quite keep track) when he saw Spain again. The Nation looked half-dead on his feet, weary beyond words, as if he might pass out at any given moment. He fell back against that same tree they had conversed under during their last meeting.

"I lost." The single word conveyed so much more.

"It be right," the younger Nation assured softly, worming his way into the Spaniard's arms. "It be right…"

Spain held the boy close to him, as a child might hold a teddy bear for assurance. The smile did not come this time. "_No, chiquito. Me temo que no…_"

* * *

**Historical Notes: In 1588, King Philip II of Spain decided to attack England because they were raiding his ships, assisting rebels in the Netherlands, and threatening his position in America. As well as the fact that the English were now Protestant, and the Catholic Spanish didn't want that. They had around 130 ships, with about 30,000 men. Unfortunately, the English had around 197 ships, and so the Spanish lost. There were a bunch of severe storms as well, which didn't help matters.**

**A lot of Spanish this time around...I hope it's all ok (corrections curtsey of Akirah, la neta d'en Vegeta! Thank you very much ^^):**

_**No me lo merezco. Pero me alegro de que seamos amigos:**_** I don't deserve it. But I'm happy we are friends.**

_**Espero que tengas razón...ten cuidado ¡Adios!:**_** I hope that you're right...take care. Goodbye!**

_**No, chiquito. Me temo que no…:**_** No, little boy. I'm afraid not...**


	5. Chapter 5

For a long time after, America did not see Spain. Sometimes he thought he saw him, somewhere, out of the corner of his eye, but the Spaniard never approached him, never came to talk with him. He was still there, still around. Just more often than not absent from the blond's daily life, a change the young Nation wasn't quite sure he appreciated.

However, America did stumble upon another European. England. How ironic that he would finally find the mysterious Nation just when he had given up looking for him.

The blond was sitting outside some sort of ramshackle shelter, holding his hands up to a pitiful little fire for warmth. His eyes were dark rimmed, and he had an air of sickness around him. Not quite like the England America remembered, but it had been so long.

He looked no threat, sitting there so harmlessly, lethargically. Spain must have surely been mistaken, America decided, stepping out from the cover of the forest.

It took the European a moment to react to his presence. After several minutes passed, England glanced up, eyes widening in surprise and alarm, before narrowing in concentration and…ferocity?

The older blond leapt up from his position by the minute flame, hand going immediately to the gun at his side, which he pulled out fluidly, holding it between himself and the younger Nation like a barrier.

But he was obviously unwell. His arms and hands shook tremendously as he tried to hold the weapon before him, attempting to appear threatening and powerful. In vain evidently, for America, despite his young age, looked on in mere concern, unfazed by the firearm aimed at his head.

No more than five minutes had passed, when the older Nation fell to his knees, coughing violently. America ran forward, patting England on the back and trying to think of what to do. "What wrong? What wrong? Hurt…? You are hurt?"

The hand, when England pulled it away from his mouth, was covered in blood, blood of such a volume and vibrant red that America felt his stomach turn over. But he needed to help, wanted to help. So he remained by the European's side, whispering to him comfortingly as best he could, determined to wait out the coughing fit.

It subsided after about fifteen minutes, though it felt like ages to the young Nation. When he had sufficiently recovered, England sat back on his heels, running a hand shakily over his perspiration-covered face. He made as if to reach for his weapon once more, but paused, before deciding against it.

"Who are you?" his voice was strange, different from that of Spain's, but somehow just as foreign.

"America," the younger blond replied, adding some nearby stray twigs to the fire. It was starting to putter out. "What…what happen? Before?"

England stared blankly at the fire for several moments before answering. "My people are sick. Ever since we got here, people have been dying after exhibiting symptoms similar to my own. But as a Nation, I can't die from it. I've just been sick. Very sick. We're running out of food. Not enough for my people, so none for me. I need to have more supplies sent over from my home."

"I help," America offered brightly, glad to be of use to a Nation so much older than himself. "My people live here long time. Know what plant grows, food safe. I help!"

England frowned, looking as if he wanted to deny the offer. But he seemed to hesitate, weighing his options. He needed the help, he couldn't deny that. Smiling wearily, he winced as he gave a single cough, but sighed in relief when it didn't become another fit. "That would be very much appreciated…America. Very much."

"I get…good water," America offered, not waiting for an answer before he got up, and, taking the strange container beside the Englishman's fire, ran off to fill it from one of the streams he knew to be clean and fresh. He would help England, help him recover from his ailments, and they would be friends like he and Spain. America hoped they would be very good friends.

* * *

**Historical Notes: In 1607, Jamestown was founded in modern-day Virginia by English settlers. They chose the location because it would be easy to defend from Native American attacks. Unfortunately, it was also right in the middle of a swamp, and thus, diseases (specifically dysentery) spread rapidly among the colonists, killing off quite a few. I figured England would be rather sick, as the majority of his colonists were, so as to represent them. **

**America helped England out, because a) he's adorable and nice like that, and b) the Native Americans did help out the English settlers a good deal. Although I think that might've been more with Plymouth in 1620, which I'll probably get into more next time. **

**No Spanish translations this time :O But Spain will probably be back at some point. Just not as much.**

**Thank you everyone who's been reading so far, and for all the reviews, favourites, alerts, etc. You are absolutely lovely readers ^^**


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey, England!" America ran happily up to the older Nation, stopping just beside him. "You are better?"

Ever since that day they had met (so long ago it now seemed) the two had become friends, America helping out England on his road to recovery, and in turn reveling in the companionship the other had to offer. The European knew stories, so very many stories. Real ones, true ones, but fictional ones as well.

It was those America liked best, the ones of pixies and unicorns, with evil dragons and fair maidens whom a strong, daring hero would always rescue. America adored these tales, and aspired to become like those heroes. Brave, handsome, undaunted in the face of danger.

A fond smile tweaked the corners of the Brit's mouth upwards. "I'm doing much better, America. Very much."

"I glad!" the young Nation replied, grinning widely. "We have celebration later, celebrate harvest. You come? We celebrate together."

"I don't see why not," England answered, looking around at the cultivated fields his colonists had successfully created with the help of their native allies.

"Yay! We have fun!" America chimed with glee, spinning happily in a circle.

Later, the two met up as planned, their people cooperating for once to eat and drink, simply being thankful that they had gotten together enough food for the long winter ahead. Afterwards their people would quarrel, over land, over rights. Many of America's people would be killed by England's, and the actions would be mutual in part. It was inevitable.

But America liked England. He was a sort of big brother to him, a role model. The new inventions England brought over, his shiny guns and metal pans, fascinated the boy. He was curious, so very curious, and wanted to learn more about this European power, wanted to know more.

And so America became caught up in the affairs of the English, becoming more and more distant with time, however unintentionally, from his people, his true people.

Spain watched this all from the side-lines, wanting to intervene, but knowing his time as America's mentor had passed. He looked on from the shadows, watching as the Native Americans were pushed farther and farther west, as America became slowly more attached to his "older brother" and consequently more detached from those whom had always lived within him, for the longest time.

The Spaniard had warned America, warned him so many times. That was all he could do. It was all up to America now.

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**Historical Notes: In 1621, the Plymouth colonists and Wampanoag Indians had a feast together to celebrate their good harvest. Apparently, it was a Native American tradition to do so, the colonists just ended up joining in. The Native Americans were very good about helping out the colonists, but the colonists were not very grateful. They still kicked them off their land…for the most part. There were a couple exceptions. Quakers, yes? **

**By the way, child!America had too many story-times with England involving heroes. That is why he turned out the way he did. In my mind. This is really just meant to be a sort of filler chapter. I'm getting somewhere, I promise. **

**Thank you very much for all the reviews ^^ You guys are lovely readers!**


	7. Chapter 7

"England!" America exclaimed happily, running towards the older blond to embrace him warmly. "So long…since saw you."

"I know," England agreed, ruffling the young Nation's hair. "My house is rather far away. It's difficult to find the time to visit."

"…" the younger one pulled back to look up at the Brit, tilting his head to the side. "Why not live here? Your people…so many here now. Stay longer?"

England smiled. "I'm afraid that would be a bit complicated. Things can get rather busy back home, and I really can't leave that long. But you could visit me for awhile, if you want. I could show you around. How does that sound?"

"Fun!" America grinned, dancing a small circle around the Brit, "When we go?"

"Fairly soon, I just have to take care of a few matters. And," England looked over the boy critically. "We need to get you some proper clothes."

America glanced down at the ragged smock he had taken to wearing since the Europeans had started visiting. It wasn't much, a plain earthy color, and dirty, but it served him well. The young nation frowned. He liked his smock.

"Come now, don't make that face," the older Nation reprimanded. "It's about time we got you cleaned up a bit. I have some old clothes that might fit you, so why don't you wash up a bit while I take care of matters, and then we'll go to my house and get you dressed decently?"

Reluctantly, America nodded his assent. He wanted to go see England's home, and if he had to take a bath in order to do so, it would be a necessary evil.

* * *

"It look stupid," America complained, pulling at the necktie. "It feel weird, too. Why you wear these things?"

England sighed, watching as his young charge continued pulling at the garment near his neck. Relenting, he knelt down next to the boy, slipping off the tie and slipping the first button out of its hole. "Is that better?"

"Yes…" America answered, although he still didn't look too happy, awkwardly knocking his newly covered feet together. "Why I have wear these? Annoying…"

"You look very nice," England evaded the question, taking the smaller Nation's hand in his own. "We can go look around now if you want. It might take your mind off the clothes…"

"Yay!" the young nation immediately brightened, veritably dragging the older blond out of the room.

"O-oi!" England pulled back half-heartedly, more or less letting the boy lead him out of his home and into the crowded streets. When did he get so strong? "Hang on a moment! You need to be patient."

"Awww…Engwand," America whined, though he stopped momentarily. "You said we could go now."

"And we can, just slow down a bit—hey!" Despite his words, England found himself being dragged off once again.

But the boy was so excited, smiling more brightly than the European had ever seen him. And so he let the boy guide him through the streets, answering every bizarre question that passed the young Nation's lips.

Thus they passed an enjoyable afternoon, stopping for dinner, before continuing to look around at America's insistence. But, predictably, a quarter to 10, the boy began feeling sleepy and asked to be carried. England obliged, scooping the boy into his arms as best he could, and continuing onward, explaining the sights like a tour guide.

Within minutes, the boy dozed off fully, snoring softly against the Brit's shoulder. England smiled fondly, rerouting to head back towards his home.

It was late when he returned, well past midnight. England hadn't realized how far they had wandered, and the return trip was twice as long with the added weight of a six-something year old.

But the older blond didn't mind, tucking the boy gently into the guest bed. He brushed the fair fringe aside, placing a soft kiss on America's forehead before pulling the covers up to his chin. The young nation looked so peaceful in his sleep, his childish face relaxed completely, a tiny fist curled near his mouth.

As he closed the door, England glanced back at the boy, an involuntary smile crossing his lips.

Was this what it felt like to be a parent?

* * *

**Historical Notes: Not much...another fluff chapter. Well, America mentions at the beginning that a lot of England's people are there. That is a slight reference to the "Great Migration" of Puritans from England to America from about 1630-1640. Henry VII wanted to divorce his wife, and the church wouldn't let him, so he decided to make his own church, the Church of England. Many steadfast Catholics didn't like this, and so broke off from the church, becoming Separatists, and Puritans, who wanted to "purify" their religion. At first they went to the Netherlands, but were unhappy there, because their children were becoming "tainted" by the locals, and so they went to America to practice their religion in peace. These were the Pilgrims. The influx continued after then for some time. Thus all the people.**

**As for America visiting England...represents his...Europeanization...if that's a word. He will be going back to...himself...after a bit though. **

**Hope you guys liked the chapter!**


	8. Chapter 8

Time passed. America returned home, eager to show his people how much he had learned. He grew up, passing through the years: six, seven, eight…

England had a house built for America to live in. It was a small affair, just enough room for a growing boy, a little extra for the times the older Nation would come to visit. Granted they were few and far between, seemingly more so as America grew older, but he treasured the visits all the more for their scarcity.

During the long stretches he spent alone, America became utterly bored. The local children weren't very much fun to play with, all very straight-laced and sober. On occasion he managed to incite a couple of them into a game of catch, but it was never long before their mothers were after them, pestering about chores that needed to be done.

Perhaps it was this boredom that led to his negligent scheme. Perhaps it was merely the beginnings of his rebellious teenage years, striking early. Whatever the reason, America decided he would go and "play" with the bulls...

At first it was fun. He slipped in through the gate, and somehow managed to mount one of the creatures. But all of a sudden, for seemingly no reason, it began to buck and try to throw him off. Holding on tightly, America, although initially freaked out (not that he'd ever admit it) began to enjoy himself. He cheered happily, knuckles white, and eyes wide with excitement.

Without warning, his hands started to slip. He tried to readjust his grip, but to no avail. Within in minutes, he was thrown off, flying several feet in the air, before hitting into one of the fence posts with a solid whack. Black spots charged across his field of vision, and he saw no more.

* * *

"What were you thinking?" England fumed, pacing back and forth in agitation. "You could have gotten _killed_…"

America glowered sullenly at his feet, pouting, "I'm a Nation. Nations don't get killed." He hissed in pain as he pressed the raw slab of meat against the large lump at the base of his skull.

The older blond paused momentarily, fists clenching at his sides. "America, technicalities aside, you could have gotten seriously hurt. You're growing up, you need to have more responsibility than this…"

"I was just playing!" America defended indignantly, slumping back in his seat, arms folded. "How was I 'spose to know it would—"

"Get angry? Try and attack you?" England interrupted, spinning around to face the younger Nation. "If you had half a brain and even a grain of common sense, maybe that wouldn't be a problem!"

The younger blond took in a sharp breath, stung by the sharpness of England's tone. Over the years, the other blond had of course been cross with him. Several times, for a variety of things. But he had never snapped at him so harshly.

"America…America, I…" England felt his heart twinge at the look on the boy's face. America's breath hitched, a single tear rolled down his cheek. The older Nation fumbled for words, only to find his arms full of a sobbing blond.

"Oh, America…" England rubbed his back apologetically. "I didn't mean that. You're a very bright boy, I just…I just wish you would be more careful."

They stood like that for awhile, until the boy's sobs subsided.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Feeling the need to control the colonies (especially Massachusetts), James II tried to unite the states north of Pennsylvania into the "Dominion of New England"(1684). However, the Glorious Revolution (1688) then took place in England, replacing James with William of Orange, and the Dominion fell apart. Trouble making America = troublesome colonies, yes?**

**In the Northern colonies, children were very disciplined. They acted and looked like "mini-adults". By age 6 or 7 girls helped with sewing and housework, boys with work outside. They didn't have much time to play, and didn't really have much of a childhood, due to the strict society they lived in. Little America would not have been the norm at that time in New England. **

**There was something else I was going to talk about...oh right. Schools. In 1636, the Boston Latin School and Harvard College were founded, and some states (in the North) made it mandatory for schooling to be available to grammar school age boys. Literacy rates rose (in the North). So America talks more or less normally now. Those of you who were getting bothered by his lack of grammar, there you go :]**


	9. Chapter 9

England decided to stay for awhile, in order to keep a closer watch on the boy and, thus, avoid more incidents. Or at least that was what he told himself.

It was during this time, that America grew bored yet again, and decided he'd entertain himself by looking around England's room while he was out on business.

At first, he found nothing of interest. Clothes, more clothes, some paperwork…more necessities. But, upon reaching the closet, America finally hit the jackpot.

Spell books, a couple wands (some knobby, others straight as a rod), and a bag containing what the boy ventured to believe were "magical ingredients". There was even a cast iron cauldron among the oddities, about twice the size of his head.

This discovery unnerved America greatly.

For awhile now his people had been talking of witches. Foul creatures, set on ruining the morality of man kind. And these items…surely England must be a witch? But he had always seemed so nice…

Perhaps he was a good witch, if such things existed? Yes, that must be the case, America decided, relieved.

Yet this brought to surface another issue. America had seen the hangings, seen them all too frequently. His people did horrid things, terrible things to the witches, things the young Nation didn't even want to think about happening to truly wicked witches, let alone his newest friend.

What if they found out about England? Would they try and hurt him, as they hurt the others? He was a Nation, so they wouldn't be able to kill him, but they could still injure him. And his inability to die would only make things worse. If that wasn't witchy, America didn't know what was.

Biting his lip, America carefully put the stuff back in place, underneath the clothes in the back of the closet. Just when he had the door closed and was putting the final touches on straightening the area back to its previous state, he heard footsteps in the hallway. Too close to run from.

"America?" England entered the room, one arm cradling a mass of papers, pausing in surprise. "What are you doing in here?"

"I…I was just…" America steeled himself, before blurting out bluntly. "Iknowyou''twantyouto—"

"Hang on…" England mentally decoded the babble, his expression moving to a mixture of concern and something else. "You think I'm…a witch?"

America nodded dumbly, feeling the blush rise in his cheeks, but continuing on resolutely. "But I think you're a good witch! I…I won't let them hurt you…"

England laughed, a short pealing chime, the worry erased completely. He only laughed harder at the young Nation's offended expression. "America, you're not buying into that whole "witch" thing, too? I just…I…"

It was the older Nation's turn to flush. "It's a hobby of mine…it's…it's nothing for you to worry about."

"But…but what if…?" America persisted, determined to secure his rapidly fading point.

"I'll be fine," England assured, ruffling the boy's hair. He was getting taller, a little past England's elbow now.

Thoroughly embarrassed, and not liking it one bit, America left wordlessly. He would go walk around in the woods for awhile to forget about this whole incident. Stupid England…

* * *

**Historical Notes: ****Again, referencing the Dominion of New England. England stayed to try and keep order of America for a bit.**

**Also, Salem Witch Trials (1692). Many women (and men, to my surprise, didn't know it was so equal) were persecuted as witches. In 1672, Salem received permission from the General Court (the body in charge of Massachusetts at the time) to set up their own church. The two children of their third preacher, Samuel Parris, started showing signs of "bewitching" immediately after Parris was dismissed in 1692. Three women, including the family's fortune-telling slave, Tituba, were convicted of being witches. That was probably more in-depth than you needed...-is copying out of notes-**

**Thank you so much, everyone who has reviewed, alerted, or favorited this story ^^ You lovely readers are really inspiring me to keep this going with everything going on. **


	10. Chapter 10

"_Men being, as has been said, by Nature, all free, equal and independent, no one can be put out of this Estate, and subjected to the Political Power of another, without his own Consent. The only way whereby any one divests himself of his Natural Liberty, and puts on the bonds of Civil Society is by agreeing with other Men to join and unite into a Community. . ._ "

England looked up from his paperwork, blinking a couple of times. "…I beg your pardon?"

"Here," America handed over the papers he had been reading from. He looked on impatiently as the older blond glanced over the words, brow crinkling ever so slightly.

"John Locke…" England frowned, handing the paper back to his charge. "Where did you come across this?"

"Everyone's reading it," America crossed his arms over his chest, a slightly defensive tone edging its way into his reply. But then he paused, uncertainty mixed with a faint trace of determination flitting across his face. "I'm not quite sure I understand it though…"

A bit of silence. The older Nation waited expectantly for the younger to continue.

"From what I get…" the blue-eyed one began hesitantly, "It's saying people are free, and don't have to follow the rules. That people should only have to listen to the rules they decide on…with other people..."

"Rubbish," England dismissed, scoffing slightly. At America's offended expression, he relented a bit. "You…you are interpreting it correctly. But the whole idea is a load of bollocks. Nothing for you to concern yourself with."

"But I think it's interesting!" the boy persisted, clenching the document in his hand. "It makes sense, that people should be able to decide things for themselves, that people should—"

"America," England warned, sending him a stern look. "That's enough, you have more important things to be working on. Like your Maths."

"But, I—"

"Maths, now," the European cut in, before returning his attention to his work.

Pouting, America left the room. He would go ask one of the people in town what they thought. They would explain it to him, even if England wouldn't.

After all, he was just curious. What was the big deal about a stupid paper, anyway? England was usually pretty lenient, and very rarely declined to answer his inquires, however ridiculous.

This realization only intensified the boy's interest. What could the document possibly be detailing that England wouldn't want him to know about? He moved into a mild sprint, eager to find out.

* * *

**Historical Notes: In the 1740s, the Enlightenment (a philosophical movement of the 18th century, characterized by belief in the power of human reason and by innovations in political, religious, and educational doctrine) came to the Americas from Europe. In Europe, discussion of new radical political ideals was limited more or less to the upper class, but in America it was a pretty commonplace topic for all people. This was partly an effect of the Great Awakening, a religious movement prior to this all that I didn't know how to include ^^' But I digress.**

**John Locke was an English philosopher, whose writings, particularly the **_**Two Treatises of Government**_** (1689), influenced the American Revolution, which we will be getting into shortly. He believed government was an institution meant to civilly resolve conflicts, and strongly believed in governmental separation of powers. He thought Revolution was not only justified, but necessary in certain situations. **

**He also believed the human mind starts off as a "blank slate", and thus we are very heavily influenced by our surroundings. Which really isn't relevant, but cool little tidbit, yes?**

**We'll be getting into this more soon, but Americans were very independent. They were used to being in control of their own governments more or less, with their town councils and only minimal British interference (appointing some officials, etc.). So when Britain started asserting its authority more later on, after being rather laid back and out of their business for awhile...they didn't like that. But, again, more later...not quite there yet.**


	11. Chapter 11

"I'm Canada," a soft voice introduced, small hands clutching a small polar bear cub for comfort.

America's eyes-widened. Before him stood a boy, not only his age, but also of a similar appearance. An uncannily similar appearance. Only the hair and shade of blue eyes were different.

"Hi!" he replied exuberantly, before jabbing a finger at himself. "I'm America!"

"I-I know," the wavy-haired boy responded, a soft 'who?' issuing from his bear as he hugged the creature closer. "We…we m-met before."

"We did?" America inquired, perplexed. He couldn't recall ever having seen the boy before. But he merely brushed it off, not letting it dampen his excitement. "Wanna play catch?"

"I-I…" Canada began, cringing as a ball narrowly missed his head.

"You have to catch it!" America reprimanded, before running off to retrieve the ball.

Only to have England reach it first, seemingly out of nowhere.

"England!" the younger Nation held up his hands, ready to receive the ball.

But the European didn't throw it. In fact, he wasn't even looking at him, rather over his shoulder. Curious, and a bit miffed at being ignored, America turned around, following the Brit's line of sight to see another unfamiliar figure standing next to…Canadia, was it?

The two older Nations had now locked sights on each other, forming some sort of staring contest.

"France," England gritted out, fists clenching. "What brings you here?"

"_Angleterre_," the foreign man greeted cordially. "I'm merely visiting my dear little colony. Might I assume the same to be true for you as well, _mon cher_?"

"Quite," the green-eyed man frowned, placing a hand on America's back, shepherding him away. "Come on, we're leaving."

"So soon?" France winked, blowing a kiss. "Farewell then, _Angleterre_. And dear little America, as well." He smiled warmly at the young Nation.

America made to wave back, but was pushed onward by an impatient England.

"What was that all about?" the boy inquired, once they were out of ear shot. "Who was that?"

Knowing he wouldn't be left alone until he answered, England replied curtly. "France, the bloody twat. I don't want you going near him."

"Why?" America questioned further, still curious.

"He's a bad influence and a bloody pervert," the European answered, the last bit under his breath.

But America had exceptional hearing when it least suited his caretaker. "Pervert? What's that?"

"I…I'll tell you when you're older," England evaded, increasing his pace. "You just better not let me catch you near that man, understood?"

America merely gave a vague nod in response. Whatever made the older Nation happy.

* * *

**Historical Notes: In the late 1600's, there were a lot of scuffles between the French settlers in Canada, and the English colonists in America. Most of them were about the extremely profitable fur trade in the area, which both of them wished to try and dominate. This eventually led to the French-Indian War, which I will probably talk about next chapter. This one was mostly transitional. There were also some scuffles with the Spanish in the southern colonies, but not quite as many. **

**We're starting the War of 1812 over the weekend, which will give me loads more to write about. And we're not even up to the Revolution yet ._.**

**And seriously, my lovely readers. You guys are giving me the motivation to keep this up :] You're all wonderful, and have my greatest thanks!**

**I'm pretty sure most, if not all, of you could get the tad of French in here. If I am mistaken in assuming so, giving me a nudge, and I'll put in a translation.**


	12. Chapter 12

"I can handle it!" America had insisted, time and time again. But his volunteer armies had been weak, crushed time and time again by the French. What had happened to that soft-spoken little boy that could've been his twin?

All he encountered was a grinning Frenchman, cutting down his superior numbers with such great ease. So many people. How was he losing so badly? Why weren't his people fighting? What was going on? He didn't know…he didn't…

He was losing, losing badly, but he wouldn't admit that to England. No, he needed to prove he was responsible, that he could take care of himself.

But France was not an easy opponent. Not at all. He joined forces with the Indians, gathering their hatred against the "English invaders" and using it to his advantage.

Hadn't they once been America's people? Didn't they recognize him? Why were they doing this, fighting against their country? Had he really changed that much?

America didn't remember anymore. He was just so tired, so tired and worn weary from the constant stress. This was the first real fight he himself had ever participated in, and it was nothing like the glorified warfare in England's stories.

He was just a child. Just a child, he admitted to himself. And he would have welcomed England's help then, welcomed it with open arms, because he was tired and sick of all this tension.

All he wanted was to go back to the carefree days before these stupid Europeans came. But he and England…they had become close, more than friends. Like family. But if that was true, where was England, where was…?

Just when America thought he would finally lose out, firm hands were there, pulling him off the ground and into a hug. A familiar scent of tea and gunpowder caught in his nose, drowning out the acrid stench of blood that just wouldn't, _wouldn't_ leave.

"France, you bastard." America felt the vibration, recognizing the voice he had come to know so well. "Leave him alone, this isn't his fight."

"_Au contraire, Angleterre_," the Frenchmen purred, drawing closer, something predatory in his movement. "He is very much involved in this."

"Not any more so than Canada," England replied, tone cold and harsh. France stiffened just noticeably. "I don't see Canada out here. They should be the two fighting."

"I—" France began, obviously ready with a witty retort, but the other European cut him off.

"I'm warning you, France," releasing the boy, England stood to his full height, drawing his weapon. "You aren't going to get away with this."

The last feeling America registered was one of overwhelming gratitude. England had come to the rescue after all. Everything would be all right…everything would be…

And then he blacked out.

* * *

**Historical Notes: The French-Indian War (1754-1763) was the American precursor to the Seven Year's War, which took place during the same time period, starting shortly after in Europe. They were more or less two names for the same War, but the French-Indian War did start first, actually starting the war over in Europe, instead of the usual vice versa.**

**Basically, a group of Virginian land inspectors called the Ohio Company ventured into this "land buffer" between the French colonies of Canada, and the English colonies. Fighting ensued, because the colonists shared England's dislike of the French. And they wanted to be in control of the fur trade, of course. **

**At first, America tried to handle affairs on his own, but the volunteer militias weren't very good. The members were, obviously, volunteers, and thus refused to follow any measures that violated the "contracts" they had for their terms of service. They also were reluctant to fight, not only for the British, but for colonies other than their own. **

**In 1758 King George II, reluctantly as he was fighting the Seven Year's War over in Europe, decided to put William Pitt (who he hated) in charge. Pitt was a brilliant strategist, but a bit "mad" according to my book. Using British troops, he soundly defeated the French, and the Spanish who had been bothering the colonists to the South, gaining a lot of new land. There were lots of after effects, which I will get to next chapter. But the immediate effect was a loss of antagonism towards the British. The Americans were very thankful that the British helped them out, as they had been losing. Badly.**

**I feel like I over exaggerated this, but I feel that America would have been a bit freaked out. He's still young, but getting older (preteen now, maybe). The Revolution is coming up soon, and he's supposed to be a teenager by then. So time is passing, slowly but surely. **


	13. Chapter 13

When America regained consciousness, eyes blurry with sleep, the first thing he noticed was England. He was in his room from what he could tell, and the older Nation was by his bedside, looking off into space.

The Brit's clothes were ragged and stained with blood, hair more disheveled than usual. When he finally turned to look at America, it was with tired, weary eyes. "I see you're awake at last. How are you feeling?"

"Ok," America sat up, rubbing his eyes. His limbs were sore and achy, but apart from that he felt physically fine. "What happened?"

"You were fighting France," England reminded, looking down at his folded hands. "And you weren't fairing very well…"

America's eyes widened with comprehension as the memories flooded back. "You…you saved me."

England looked away, a faint blush ghosting over his cheeks. "I wouldn't have had to if you hadn't been so bloody resistant about my help in the first place."

America just grinned, seemingly oblivious to the insulting retort.

"I," the European glanced back down at his hands. "I'm just glad you're all right. You had me rather worried…" he trailed off as he found himself in a sudden embrace.

"England…Thanks for helping me out."

A long, comfortable silence fell between the two.

* * *

Later that day, once America was up and about on his feet again, he went to go look for that boy (Nacada? No, that wasn't right…) wondering how he was fairing in the aftermath of the war. Not that he had really been involved all that much, but surely he must have been affected to some degree?

It took much less time to locate the boy than America had anticipated. He was sitting in the middle of a clearing, curled into a ball, head furrowed into his arms atop his knees. Silent sobs were shaking his shoulders.

"Canada," America whispered, the name suddenly coming back to mind in his concern. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

The boy glanced up, seemingly startled. His lone corkscrew curl stemming from his mass of wavy hair was limp, sodden with stray tears. Rubbing his hands across his eyes, Canada made an effort to stop the tears, but they kept coming.

"My papa," the younger boy responded, breath hitching with repressed sobs. "I'll never see him again. England he…he took me away from him."

"Your…papa?" America gazed back at the other, sympathetically perplexed.

"F…France." The little polar bear cub often in attendance with the boy put its paws up on his shoulder, licking away the salty trails left by the tears.

"England said he was a pervert, though," the older boy stated knowingly.

"A…what?" Canada faltered slightly, distracted momentarily from his sorrows.

"I'm not sure what it means either," America admitted, before smiling and placing an arm around the other boy's shoulders. "But England didn't seem to like France very much, so he must have been trying to save you. We'll have lots of fun together! We can be brothers."

"Brothers?" Canada repeated quietly, tears finally gone. "England, when he first introduced me to you…he said we were brothers…"

"Really?" America blinked in confusion, obviously having no recollection of the event, but he went along with it enthusiastically. "Well, see? It must be true then. Come on, I have some really cool stuff to show you!"

"A-alright," Canada allowed himself to be pulled along, happy to forget about France if only for a moment. Clutching his bear to his chest with his free arm, America chattering on about things they could do together, the two walked off.

England smiled as he watched them leave, part of the weight lifting from his heavy heart.

* * *

**Historical Notes: The Treaty of Paris (1763) ended the French-Indian/Seven Year's War. Part of the terms were that France had to give up Canada to Britain (except for two small islands near Newfoundland). Spain gave up Florida to get the Philippines and Cuba back. Spain also got New Orleans and the area west of the Mississippi in another Treaty. But I wasn't sure how to include that bit and make the story coherent O-O History can be difficult to write about...**

**Anyway...this was...sort of filler. We start the events leading up to the Revolution next chapter. I need to go take my notes now. **

**50+ reviews. Just...wow. Thank you! **


	14. Chapter 14

"I don't want you going out so far." England warned when America came to tell him he and Canada were going to spend the day exploring the wilderness.

"Why not?" America inquired, voice taking on a slight whine. "We've never been over there before, and I want to look around some."

"It's dangerous," the European explained although even America could tell he wasn't giving the full truth. "The natives are still sore about losing land, so it would be best if we just leave them alone for the time being. There are plenty of other places for you to explore."

"Come on, England," the younger Nation insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't be a joy kill. I've already looked around here a gazillion times. With all the stress you've been putting on me and my people, the least you could do is let me relax and look around. Canada and I haven't been able to hang out in awhile, and we've been planning on this forever!"

Canada, who had been watching the ongoing events silently until this point, made to cut in at the last remark. "If…If England doesn't want us going over there, I don't mind…"

But America, as per usual, ignored him. "England, don't be like this. You said the measures would only be temporary anyway. I don't see what the big deal is."

"The 'big deal'," England began, getting irritated now, "is that, as your guardian, you should respect me and listen to what I tell you to do. Am I clear?"

"But England, I—"

"Am I clear?"

"Yeah, whatever," America relented grudgingly, before turning to his newly acquainted brother. "Come on, Canada."

Taking Canada's wrist, he made his way towards the door. England sighed as he watched the two go. He hated being so strict towards his colony, but he didn't have any other option. The recent war wouldn't pay for itself, America knew that. And they really couldn't afford to get into anymore disputes with the natives right now.

But he did have another motive as well. More and more often, the European had noticed America was becoming independent. His reluctance to accept help, his general attitude toward the Brit. England did not like the changes he was seeing, fearing what it might mean.

Again he was reminded of that time, several years ago in his office. John Locke: was he to blame for these new ideas filling his little colony's head? How had this happened…England had been so careful with raising America, and now? He would simply have to hold on and hope for the best.

* * *

"America, wait up a minute!" Canada paused, gasping for breath. Over the years, Kumajirou had gotten bigger; it was no longer so easy to carrying him around all day. But his brother had been going at an abnormally fast pace, obviously agitated by something.

"Sorry, Canada," the older boy apologized, plopping down beside his younger brother. "I just…England has been so controlling lately. I don't see what his problem is…"

"He's just over-worked," Canada defended. "With all the new land he's gotten, he has a lot more work to do. Plus all the debt he has to pay off. And he's still worried that the other Nations might try and start something again…"

"I know," America sighed, resting his head on a knee. "It's getting really annoying, though. My people are getting restless."

Canada nodded sympathetically. "Everything will work out in the end."

Kumajirou trotted over and nuzzled up against America. Smiling fondly at the little bear, the older twin patted his head affectionately. "I hope you're right."

* * *

**Historical Notes: In the Proclamation of 1763, Britain forbid any colonists that weren't licensed traders to go beyond the Appalachian Divide. Naturally, the Americans were rather put off, as they had developed all these plans of what they would do with the land and such. Although the measure was originally meant to be temporary, after some time had passed, the British realized this policy effectively cut some colonial costs, placated the Native Americans that lived in the area, and kept the colonists consolidated and closer to the mother country. And so it remained in place, again, much to the colonists' annoyance. Britain got a lot more land in other parts of the world (India, etc.) as well...so it wasn't just America they were concerned with.**

**The Sugar Act of 1764 placed tariffs on sugar, coffee, wines, and other things imported into America in large quantities. Although the colonists had tolerated the Navigation Acts, which were a series of laws put in place by Parliament that were designed to "bring money into the Royal treasury, to develop the imperial merchant fleet, to channel the flow of colonial raw material into England, and to keep foreign goods and vessels out of American ports". I think I actually forgot to touch on these ^^' But basically, under them, the colonists had to use their own ships, not those of the Dutch that they had previously been using. And they couldn't export certain goods to places other than England (such as indigo, sugar, cotton, tobacco, etc.). Some regulatory duties were included as well, but nothing major.**

**By the way, America got England hooked on tobacco. King James I knew tobacco was bad for people (he actually sort of predicted cancer, saying smoking was a "vile and dangerous" habit "harmful to the lungs") and was initially opposed to it. But of course, once he realized the profits that could be made off it, he changed his mind oo' **

**Anyway...that got really off topic. Colonists opposed the Sugar Act more than the Navigational Acts, because they cut into their profits a lot more, as the Navigational Acts were really intended more to control American commerce, not to collect money. They believed England had no right to tax them, as well, since they had no representation in English government.**

**Parliament represented all members of the British Empire. "Representatives were elected from different districts in Britain, but the colonists did not elect any. The rationale for this was that representatives of London stood for not only London but also the whole empire besides the mother country" (Thank you very much for the correction, Hilaria ^^)**

**Britain believed the colonists were being represented, even though they weren't **_**really.**_** They probably wouldn't have paid the taxes, though, even if they were offered seats in Parliament, because the main thing they were opposed to was the actual paying of money. They had gone a long time without paying taxes, so they weren't very keen on the idea, representation or not. But then again, another point, brought up by **LupinandHarry**, even if they did get representation, they probably wouldn't have gotten very far with two or three people up against the whole of Parliament. **

**So there are the facts/views, make what you will. Most history can be interpreted in different ways, and history **_**is **_**biased more or less. Ever heard of the phrase "Winners write the history books"? **

**Thank you all for reading :D**


	15. Chapter 15

"Hey, England," America looked up from his lessons to where his mentor was sitting at his own desk, scribbling away at paperwork. "Wouldn't you think it's fair that—now since I'm getting older and stuff—I get to help make some decisions for the colonies?"

The scratch of inked quill on paper paused. Glancing up inquiringly, the European set his pen down beside the document. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Well, just my people…" the younger Nation hesitated. "They really aren't happy right now, with the way you're running things. This new tax on paper, for example. And housing your soldiers here. It just…seems a bit much to me."

Immediately, the older Nation stiffened. "We have been through this, America. There was a lot of money lost throughout the war effort, a good portion of it spent helping you out. I believe it is only fair you help out and pay you fair share."

A tense pause.

"Besides, it's not as if your colonists are actually cooperating." There was no mistaking the bitterness in the Brit's tone. "Perhaps if they had just paid their taxes properly, and not tried to circumvent every blasted act I've put in place, we wouldn't have had to take things this far…"

"Well, maybe," America interrupted, gritting his teeth. "Maybe if you treated us like equals instead of underlings, and actually asked for our opinion every now and again, we'd be more inclined to follow your stupid rules?"

A sudden surge of irritation rushed through England, and he got to his feet, slamming both hands down flat on his desk. "America, that is no way to address your elders. I helped you get where you are today. Without me, you wouldn't have—"

"You aren't the boss of me!" America countered, mimicking the other's previous actions. "You don't control me. You're not my father, or whatever you seem to think you are…"

"You're right, I'm not your father," the older blond agreed. "I'm your superior. You belong to me, and as such, must listen and show me the proper respect—"

"Bullshit." Straightening to his full height, just over the European's shoulder level, he mustered up as fierce a glare as he could. "I'm not a kid anymore, and there's no way in hell you're my "superior"!"

There was a resounding '_smack' _of flesh on flesh. Neither of the two moved, frozen in shock. But slowly, other emotions surfaced past the shell: hurt, guilt. Disbelief.

"America…" England's eyes widened and he stared at his raised hand, as if it were some foreign entity. "America, I…I didn't. Oh my God…"

Refusing to meet the other's gaze, the younger Nation raised a hand to touch his cheek, feeling the stinging skin.

"America…I'm so sorry. I don't…"

"It's fine," the anger was gone from the boy's voice, replaced with a monotone that would've been dead, if not for the betrayal lacing each word. He made to head for the door.

"No." England dodged around his desk, grabbing America's hand. "It's not fine. I'll make it up to you, I'll…"

But America always had been strong. Yanking himself free of the other's grasp, he left before the European could finish, slamming the door.

England's legs gave way beneath him, but he couldn't bring himself to care. In all the years he and America had been together, he had never once struck the boy. Never. And now after everything…

What had he been thinking…? What had…?

For the first time in recent memory, England felt tears pricking at the backs of his eyes, felt his hands shaking with emotion and his throat choked by words he wanted to say.

And he cried.

* * *

**Historical Notes: The Navigational Acts and many of the other measures put in place by Britain were tip-toed around. Smuggling, entering the prohibited Appalachian Area, etc. It happened a lot, and because of this, Britain did not get anywhere near as much money as it would have if all the regulatory duties were followed to the dot. But it was sort of a laid back policy they had back then. It wasn't until after the French-Indian War that they really started cracking down to raise funding.**

**The Stamp Act(1765) placed taxes on all printed matter. Newspapers, pamphlets, licenses, diplomas, and legal paper could not be bought or sold without first purchasing and attaching special stamps. Needless to say, the Americans were not happy. They more or less refused to comply. An organization called "The Sons of Liberty" looted the houses of appointed stamp masters, threatening them to resign. Quite a few did. In other places, they simply stole and burned the stamps.**

**The Quartering Act required local legislatures to house and feed British troops. Americans were opposed to this because they not only had to care for the troops during tough economic times, but the soldiers weren't paid very well and often took up side jobs, taking away work from the colonists.**

**Eventually the Stamp Act was repealed (March 1766) but the same day, parliament issued the Declaratory Act, stating that the colonies were "subordinate" and that Parliament could enact any law it wished "to bind the colonies and people of America." To the British, this was just stating the obvious. To the Americans this was beyond unreasonable.**

**These weren't really referred to specifically, but the Townshed Duties (1767) were a series of levies on glass, lead, paints, paper, and tea imports. Americans boycotted British goods in response to this, and tried to promote their own industry, almost halving imports by the end of 1769.**

**The Boston Massacre. Basically, some Americans were idling around, and decided to chuck rock-filled snowballs at British troops stationed in Boston. The crowd increased and things got pretty nasty, so the British, panicking, shot at the crowd, killing five Bostonians. Many used this as pro-Revolution propaganda (Paul Revere's engraving of the Boston Massacre - Google it). Makes it look like the British formed ranks and purposefully fired at the crowd.**

**A sort of two-year truce followed the Massacre. In April 1770, all of the Townshed duties were repealed except a three-penny tax on tea, just as a matter of principal. **

**I think that's pretty much it for now...Comments on the pacing? I feel like that went a bit fast. Retouched the historical notes on the last bit, so that should be better now. How was the actual story in this one? Too dramatic? Opinions of all sorts welcome :D And once again, you are all absolutely lovely readers. Thank you for reading this far, and I hope you continue to do so!**


	16. Chapter 16

It had been a simple tea cup that started them off again. Not just any tea cup—mind you—rather, one from England's favorite set. But it had been a tea cup nonetheless.

The day had started off quite ordinary. Slight tensions, as there always seemed to be nowadays, but such were the difficulties of teenage years, the older Nation reasoned.

No, it wasn't until tea that afternoon that things began to go amiss.

It had started off with an argument, as per usual, about something stupid (wasn't it always?). America had been upset about the new taxes. The tax on tea, of all things.

"It's the principal of it," the younger Nation insisted, frowning at his elder. "By accepting any taxes from you, we're accepting the fact that you have power over us. Which you don't."

"I will impose whatever bleeding taxes I want!" England countered, crossing his arms. "As your guardian, I—"

And just like that, America had swept the cup and its contents off the table. The crash seemed so loud, so very loud in the sudden silence. Painted china shattered, chips gyrating off in all directions.

"That's what I think of your stupid tea!" the blue-eyed one shouted angrily, before storming up to his room. The slam of the door was deafening.

"America, get back down here right now!" England demanded, making his way up the stairs. "How do you expect me to take you seriously when you act so ridiculously immature?"

No answer. Trying the knob, he found the door locked as well.

"America, open the door!"

Still no answer.

"You are not leaving this house until I get an apology from you, do you hear that?" England threatened, increasingly irritated by the lack of response.

"You aren't the boss of me!" America called out, only further aggravating the European.

"I bloody well am, you little bugger!" the older Nation replied, hands clenching into fists.

"Are not!" the younger Nation contradicted childishly. England half expected America's head to appear around the door, tongue stuck out.

"I'm not going to argue with you…just open the bloody door!" the green-eyed one pounded on the wood, rather vexed.

No reply.

Exhaling, England turned away from the door. It was only a matter of time before America would get hungry and come out for nourishment: the boy had such a large appetite. No point in getting worked up over this.

Sighing, the European returned downstairs to clean up the debris. There was no use in negotiating with the boy when he got like this. Such a stubborn fool…

One of the porcelain shards slipped against the blond's finger, slitting the skin ever so slightly. A single crimson drop beaded on the wound, dripping off the finger's tip to land in the puddle of spilled tea.

"Damn it..." England swore, sucking on the injured finger.

That lone drop of scarlet, such a potent, vibrant hue, diffused throughout the puddle, turning the whole liquid to a similar shade. Red. Red as blood.

* * *

**Historical Notes: In 1773, because of excess amounts of tea, the new prime minister, Lord North, decided to do away with the high taxes on tea imports into America, allowing the East India Company to directly sell tea to America through its own agents. This created a sharp decline in the price, while still allowing the company a decent profit. Only the threepenny Townshed tax was kept in place. High-quality tea at bargain prices was tempting, but Americans felt they were being "tricked" into paying the tea tax. **

**This lead to the Boston Tea Party. Colonists, dressed as Indians, rowed out to the ships once they arrived in Boston's port, and proceeded to dump all of the tea overboard.**

**Angered, Parliament issued the Coercive Acts in 1774. They consisted of three parts, concentrating on Massachusetts.**

**-Boston Port Act: closed Boston harbor to all commerce until the tea was paid for.**

**-Administration of Justice Act: allowed cases to be transferred to courts outside Massachusetts when the governor (who was sympathetic to the British) felt impartial trail could not be had within the colony.**

**-Massachusetts Government Act: revised Massachusetts' charter - strengthened the governor's power and weakened that of the local town assembly. Council members were changed from elective to appointive, and the jury selection process was altered. **

**The idea was that Massachusetts would be punished as an "example" to the rest of the colonies. Britain thought of the colonies as separate entities, only united through their ties to the motherland. Soon enough, they would realize their error.**

**That's all for now...I just want to say...**

**10 reviews on last chapter! -is amazed- I've already surpassed the amount of reviews on my Avatar story that spanned over 2 years of my life. This has been up hardly more than a month... **

**You guys are fantastic C:**


	17. Chapter 17

America was able to sneak out of the house, once England finally fell asleep. Eyes closed, all creases erased by peaceful slumber, the older Nation looked so calm, so…

Something in America's chest twinged, and he had to look away. Because he knew what he was going to have to do, knew there was no time for sympathy and understanding. England would just keep pushing and pushing until he got his way.

No, America couldn't compromise. He'd already put up with far too much.

So he slipped out the door, not looking back.

For awhile he wandered about, no where in particular. The first rays of light began to poke up over the horizon, shedding light into the previously dark world. But with the sun he saw an alarming sight. Redcoats, so many of them, lined up to face a gathering of militiamen no where near their number. They were just talking though, arguing, discussing—America couldn't tell exactly from this distance.

But then a shot was fired. And the Americans were fleeing, the British tailing after them. Still fighting, still fighting.

There was no going back. Events had been set into motion, gathering speed like a boulder rolled downhill. There would be no stopping it.

This was the end of being "colonies". No more toleration, no more obedience. America would fight for his people and for his freedom. They deserved better than this.

His courage was only further strengthened when the first real battle finally came around. So many of England's men dead, so few of his own. America couldn't help but feel a sort of sick pleasure at the notion. He would defeat England, prove to him that he could stand on his own and take care of himself. He would...

A tap on the shoulder interrupted his reverie.

"I've just about finished," a young man—Jefferson, was it?—explained. "I…all of us really. We'd like for you to look over it."

America accepted the document, glancing over the words, but not reading them. Black against parchment, delicately arranged ink. Just words, words that would forever end his relationship with England as it had been. Forever alter it. Did he really want to go through with this?

"It's very good," America complimented, handing the papers back. The young man smiled graciously, before returning to the others assembled. America knew them vaguely, all important members of his society. Their excited words morphed together into an unintelligible mess upon entering the young Nation's ears.

He would do this. For the colonists, for his people. This was what they wanted, a revolution. They wanted freedom, and didn't America as well? Didn't he?

Getting to his feet, America stepped outside of the building. Was this really England's fault, though? Perhaps it was just Parliament…perhaps it was just the king. But really, didn't the older Nation embody all that? Wasn't this all at least partly his doing?

Shaking his head, America cleared his mind of those thoughts. Now wasn't the time for hesitance, it was a time for action. As soon as the Declaration was finished and sent out, things would no doubt get very ugly, very fast. America wanted to believe England would just let him go, but he couldn't see that happening.

_He couldn't…_

* * *

**Historical Notes: Battles of Lexington and Concord (1775): General Thomas Gage received orders to use force against Massachusetts, but the order was delayed. During that time, the colonists prepared arms, and a small militia. **

**When the British finally arrived in Lexington, it was to find about 70 "Minute Men" (militia troops that could assemble in a "minute" hence, the name). After an argument, the Americans began to withdraw, but not before a shot was fired. Chaos broke out, the colonists fled, with the British on their tails. **

**At Concord, more and more militia men showed up, surprising the British, who had expected the Americans to be foolish and useless in battle. The British were ravaged on their way to Boston: 273 British causalities, fewer than 100 American. **

**The Battle of Bunker Hill actually took place on Breed's Hill (also 1775). The Americans defended the hill valiantly against British troops, killing more than 1000 men, while the Americans lost only 400, most of which were cut down by bayonets when the British finally succeeded in taking the hill.**

**This battle pretty much destroyed all hopes of settling matters peaceably between the British and English. After so much bloodshed, things could not return to the way they were, nor would either side have been happy with such a situation, regardless.**

**Declaration of Independence (1776), written by Thomas Jefferson, it officially declared America as a country separate from Britain. It was also very critical of George III, blaming him more or less for everything. Although edited out of the final copy, in Jefferson's original draft, the king was even accused of starting slavery. Parliament was really the one responsible for the taxes and whatnot, but Jefferson felt the king was a set face and entity representing their oppressors as a whole, a figurehead for them to focus their anger and indignation against. **


	18. Chapter 18

"America?" the voice, the voice he knew so well, sounded surprised. "Where have you been? I've been worried sick, I…"

"It's over, England," America stated, pushing past the blond. He made his way up the stairs quickly, not looking back at the older nation trailing behind him. Once there, he began stuffing his personal belongings into the first bag he could find. Clothes, toys, whatever was within reaching distance, into the bag.

"What's over?" England sounded so confused, so apprehensive. America couldn't think about that, couldn't let this get to him.

"I'm leaving." The younger Nation refused to meet the European's eyes. He tried to think of all the wrongs England had done to his colonists, all of the injustices—big and small—he had committed over the years. Resentment slowly seeped into his voice. "I meant what I said. I'm not putting up with you anymore. I'm going to become my own country, free of you and your stupid rules!"

America straightened up, surveying the room once, careful not to look at his caretaker. His bedroom looked so empty, all of his items stuffed away. He'd never sleep in here again, knowing England was only a few rooms off, never listen to his bedtime stories, never…

"What?" Anger, good. America could deal with anger. "What do you mean you're leaving? You can't just…can't just…I forbid you!"

"I'm through with listening to you!" the younger Nation pushed past his elder, out the door and back down the stairs. "I'm an adult now; I can take care of myself. I don't need you anymore!"

The footsteps behind him stopped. He wanted to turn around so badly. But he couldn't…couldn't look and see the hurt he knew would be there. He wouldn't be able to leave if he looked.

"America…you can't," England whispered, as if the words were true, and he couldn't understand why his colony wouldn't see that. "You're my little brother…you're my…you can't leave."

"No," America's hand was on the door, turning the knob. "I can."

He waited for the inevitable arms around him, the desperate last touch to hold him back, somehow keep him from going. But it didn't come. For some reason, that hurt more than anything else England could have done at that moment. Did he not care after all…?

The thought was enough to make America look back, just once.

England was staring straight ahead, a look of profound astonishment on his features, mixed with pain. His eyes, such a brilliant green, were gazing right through America, unseeing, glazed over with panic.

And at that moment, the younger Nation knew he had to leave, lest the pity and sympathy flowing into him take hold and make him give the Brit one more chance.

He couldn't afford that, _he couldn't_…

"Goodbye, England," America whispered, opening the door, and closing it behind him in one swift moment.

It was so quiet outside. Dark now, dark as pitch, lit only by the soft glow of candle light seeping out of the windows of h—England's house.

Slowly, he let this moment sink in. He was on his own now. His actions in the next few years would determine his future, and the future of his people. Return to oppression under Britain, or freedom. It was up to him.

All up to him…

Without doubt, England would come after him once the shock wore off. He would use force, America didn't doubt it. The new Nation would have to fight to stay solo, stay independent. He would have to fight…

Now was the chance for him to prove himself. Prove himself as a hero.

* * *

**Historical Notes: At the time of the Revolution, America was not united, especially not in regards to the war effort. Loyalists (or Tories, as they were called) opposed the war for a number of reasons. Many were simply distasteful of the rebellion, and didn't believe it would bring about much improvement. **

**Others believed the actions of the British, although misguided and unfair, were not enough to warrant rebellion. They were aware their current relationship with Britain allowed them a reasonable amount of freedom, and saw no reason to risk hundreds of lives in a fight to escape such minor restrictions. **

**However, the Loyalists lacked organization. Tories were often openly abused: tar and feathered, set upon by mobs, etc. And so, it was hard for them to find "leaders" and unite under such conditions. Often when a colony was taken over by revolutionaries, the Loyalists fled to the approaching British troops for protection. **

**Many historians believe about 1/5 were Loyalists, 2/5 Revolutionaries, and 2/5 neutral or undecided. So the Revolution was, by no means, a unanimous sentiment, explaining America's reluctance in this chapter and the last. **

**The Revolution is started!**


	19. Chapter 19

Gunshots fired all around. "Front line!" someone called. Another round of fire.

This was too easy, England thought to himself. The American troops were so inadequate, so inexperienced. So stupid…sticking along the coast. Didn't they know Britain had the best navy in the world? How foolish…

America had been lucky at first, striking when England had still been in shock. But that would be solved now. England would put an end to this silly rebellion once and for all.

Speak of the devil. There the boy was, bayonet aimed at the Brit.

"America," England acknowledged. The fighting seemed to come to a stand still, both their armies pausing to watch the face off.

"England," the younger nation shifted position, preparing to charge. "I told you I was going to fight. I'm my own Nation, now, I'm—"

"Idiot," the European sneered. "You're an incompetent upstart, there's no way—"

And America ran forward then, giving a yell. It was over in an instant. Steel met wood, and a weapon spun into the air, landing several feet away.

"So pathetic," England's eyes were narrowed, his tone condescending. Expression grim, he shifted his weapon so that the point was set inches form the boy's forehead.

He looked so surprised, so indignant. Had he seriously expected to have any chance at winning, taking on the British Empire? What a foolish, foolish boy…

The younger Nation felt frozen to the spot, though adrenaline poured through his veins. This was surely the end.

He hadn't known what he was up against when he declared independence, hadn't anticipated the strength and discipline of the British army. His own soldiers were so divided, so naïve in the ways of war. England's had taken on Spain and France. There was just no way, even if it had started out well.

America was helpless, unarmed. England could end it all, right now. But his hands were shaking on the barrel of the gun.

It wasn't an insolent colony he saw before him. It was a small boy with bright blue eyes, bright as a cloudless mid-summer sky, looking up at him, asking for another story. Asking how he was. He couldn't do this, he couldn't…

The beginnings of tears trickled from green eyes, and he dropped the gun, before falling to his knees in the mud seconds after.

"Dammit, America…I can't," he covered his face with his hands, the sobs taking over. In his mind he saw his sweet little colony, curious of the world and dependent on his mother country. When had that all changed? Where had he gone wrong?

"England…" The other started, watching with a mixed expression of shock and slight pity. He wanted to say something, wanted to comfort his elder somehow. But he was fighting against him, he couldn't sympathize. He couldn't…

Washington was calling, shouting for a retreat _now_, while the British were hesitating. And so America ran, ran away from his former parent. He would become independent. No matter how much it hurt, he wouldn't stop fighting.

* * *

Not long after, America was part of another attack. Washington led as always: he would know how to do so better than a simple teenager, no doubt.

This time it was a sneak attack, on the eve of Christmas. Years ago, America had spent this day curled up next to the fireplace, listening to England's stories. That was always how they spent the holidays, together, at ease. A small smile creased his lips.

He shivered, wrapping his coat tighter around him. The storm was supposed to be an advantage, Washington had said. It would give them the element of surprise. All America was getting from it were soaked clothes and a chill to the bones. But he supposed Washington knew what he was talking about.

They arrived shortly after daybreak at Trenton, cold and sodden, but determined. And Washington was right. The Hessians didn't expect a thing, not at all. Some ran off, scattering into the downpour of sleet. The rest surrendered.

For the first time in months, America felt a surge of hope. Maybe they could do this after all. Maybe he _could_ take on England.

It wasn't over yet.

* * *

**Historical Notes: The American military was very inexperienced. They also disliked drilling and other disciplinary measures, which was obviously an issue, and they were rather poorly supplied. Lack of food and proper clothing caused sickness, frostbite, etc. Right at the start they had a few victories (Battle of Bunker Hill, etc.) but shortly after, the British had more luck. **

**At the Battle of Long Island, under General William Howe, the British troops dominated the American troops, and he could have ended the war on the spot. Due to indecision, however, stuck between being a "peacemaker or a conqueror", he hesitated too long, and Washington was able to withdraw his troops to Manhattan. **

**George Washington was a bit of...I don't want to say idiot. But he fell for a lot of tricks, and for the first part of the war stayed along the shores, allowing the British to get easy reinforcements from their vast navy along the shore. It wasn't the best of plans.**

**Things turned in their favor a bit at Trenton. Washington decided to launch a surprise attack on the Hessian troops stationed there, in hopes that they would not expect such an attack on Christmas Eve, during a storm, at night. They got there shortly after daybreak, storm still in progress, and as said in the story, some fled, the rest (about 900) surrendered. **

**The Hessian troops were first-class professional soldiers, perhaps the most competent in Europe at the time. Triumphing over them gave the Americans a great sense of accomplishment, and increased morale. The victory had little strategic importance, as after it, both sides took a break for the winter. But if this victory had not occurred, the Americans may not have continued to fight on, come spring.**

**According to **LupinandHarry**, "Although the Hessians were the best Europe had to offer, a lot of them didn't really want to fight and deserted when the Americans promised them land." Still, I suppose the Americans may not have realized this, and still felt better about themselves after the fact? **

**I think that's about it for now. France comes in next chapter. We're fully into the Revolution now!**

just another fma fan**: I'm glad you're enjoying it ^^ I'm aware it's a bit of an allegory, but isn't that sort of what Hetalia is? I know I'm not really following Himaruya's ideas about pre-Independent America exactly, but he wasn't all that detailed. I;m doing my best to keep it comprehensible. **

**"I Can't Decide" is definitely a Russia-esque song. I have a video for him with it, I think. Somewhere...**

**"I'm Japan!" XD That will fun. Interesting reactions I should receive, yes? Thank you very much for the review ^^**


	20. Chapter 20

"Why are you doing this?" America's eyes narrowed, as he shifted position.

There Canada was, clad in red—red, just like England—soft violet-tinged eyes pleading.

"America, England misses you. We both miss you." He straightened, lowering his weapon. The fighting continued on around them, but they were on a different level from it as Nations. "Why are _you _doing this? Just stop fighting, we can work things out…"

The older twin was silent for awhile, surveying his younger brother, and the true sadness displayed so profusely in those eyes. "Have you yourself never thought of rebelling? England isn't the boss of us, he isn't. I want to be free, to be independent. Don't you want the same?"

"I…" Canada hesitated, glancing at his mud covered boots. The two were quiet for a stretch, while noise surged all around. "I don't want to hurt England. Even if he took me away from Papa, I don't…I don't want to hurt him. I want us to all stay as a family. Him, me…and you."

It was America's turn to look away, watching the men around him. Fighting, charging. Shooting, dying. Running, shouting…always shouting. He didn't know what to say.

"Please, America…"

"I'm sorry, Canada," was all the older brother could respond with. And the two continued fighting.

* * *

"…so will you help me out?" the young Nation finished, glancing over at the other blond.

France finished scribbling out a string of flowing cursive, before getting to his feet and trailing over to America. "_Oui_, _mon cher. _Anything for the brother of _mon petit fils_. And of course," he flipped his hair over his shoulder, winking as if alluding to some secret understanding. "Always the better if it's against _Angleterre_, _oui_?"

America smiled slightly, the grin not quite reaching his eyes. "Of course."

"I'm sure _mon ami_ will help out as well?" France turned to the third presence in the room.

"_Sí_," the Spaniard agreed, before an uncharacteristically grim expression down-turned the corners of his mouth. "To weaken the British Empire."

"I feel a toast is in order." France rummaged about in a cabinet, retrieving three glasses which he promptly filled with a bottle of wine, before passing them out to the assembled. "Cheers to bringing down _Angleterre_!"

"Yeah," America agreed half-heartedly, downing the substance. The slight buzz improved his spirits a bit, and made him forget about England, for just a little while…

* * *

"If you come back, America, I promise I'll take back all of those taxes, all of those stupid Coercive Acts…and the Tea Act too," England pleaded, keeping back the tears that begged to flow free as they seemed to so often these days when it came to his former-colony. "I'll never tax you again. Never, I promise. We'll live together again, with Canada. I'll visit more often, and we can spend time together. I'll let you help out with governing your people, I'll…"

"No, England," America couldn't take much more of this. But he had come this far…he wasn't going to back down now. "I'm going to become independent, and there's nothing you can say or do that will change that."

"America, please…"

"No!" America refused vehemently, turning away. "If you cared about me at all, you would let me go. This is what I want…can't you see that?"

"I'm not going to just let you slip away!" England persisted. "You can't…I...I'll fight to keep you with me."

The younger Nation sighed, and walked away, not turning back when England called after him. He was strong, he was independent. He was the hero, and he would teach England to respect him. If the older Nation insisted on fighting, he would comply. He would show him.

* * *

**Historical Notes: The British came up with this great 3-prong scheme to defeat the Americans. One was a branch of soldiers that would come down from Canada, led by General John Burgoyne. Another was under Lieutenant Colonel Barry St. Leger, although he was stopped pretty quickly by American forces, and didn't make it far.**

**General Howe, meanwhile, was in charge of the other force in the plan. He was distracted, harassing Washington's troops, and did not make it in time to help out General Burgoyne, who was pinned down and ultimately defeated at Saratoga.**

**Hearing of the success of Saratoga, the French decided this would be a good time to intervene and recognize America. Fearing an American-French alliance, Britain tried to bargain with America, offering to repeal the Tea and Coercive Acts, have Parliament pledge never to tax American colonies again, and pretty much give in to all the issues the Americans had started the Revolution over. **

**However, their peace commissioners did not make it until 1778, after the French and Americans had already formed an alliance, France offering to help out with the Revolution, as long as America would come and help out, should war break out between Britain and France. Spain helped out with funding for the American Revolution a little, as well. All in order to weaken Britain, mind you, not out of sympathy for the cause.**

**Anyway, I really need to get going now. So Happy Halloween, those of you that celebrate it ^^ Might give the 100th reviewer a one-shot gift...if they want. I've never had 100 reviews before...And I think a request might be fun, yes?**

**Translations:**

**Mon petit fils- my little son**


	21. Chapter 21

"Spain…" the young Nation ventured, sounding unsure even to himself. But as the figure drew closer he could clearly recognize the features.

"Are you here to help me?" America called out, surprised.

The Spaniard gave an artificial smile, waving his weapon. "_Algo por el estilo_. I haven't seen you in so long, _chiquito_. You've grown."

"Yeah," America affirmed, eyes narrowing as he viewed the approaching troops. There was a discernible tenseness between himself and Spain, but he couldn't let that bother him now.

His troops were busy elsewhere, under Greene, pushing back other British forces. They were fairing well, very well, but help could always be used. No matter the motive.

"Ready?" the younger nation shifted his gun in preparation.

"_Claro que sí_," the older Nation confirmed, a grim sort of excitement tracing over his features. Vividly, America remembered the conquistadores. How they had come, and conquered empires.

A shudder ran down his spine.

* * *

"You bloody git!" England yelled, anger coursing through his veins. "You're _helping_ him? That's below the belt, even for you, you bleeding frog."

"Any chance to cross swords with you, _Angleterre_," the older blond countered. America watched the exchange, with a mixture of trepidation and amusement. England's face had turned a rather brilliant crimson, edging on violet.

"And you, America," England's expression showed such hurt, the boy felt guilt well up inside him. "Resorting to help from such a scumbag. I don't believe you…either of you!"

Anger, so much anger, but no tears. It was for that reason, and that reason alone, that America could keep going. It enabled him to keep fighting with his troops, to stand the lives being lost consistently around him.

It would all be over soon. With France's help, the Revolution was moving in their favor. England tried all sorts of methods: sympathy from loyalists, dependence on military strength.

But it wasn't working. His heart wasn't in the effort, and it showed.

"It's over now," America stated months later. Or was it years? It felt like they had been fighting for so long…

"It's not over yet, you twit." England was breathing heavily, weapon locked in position. His eyes were narrowed, eyebrows furrowed, but his knees were shaking. It was only them now, the countries. England was all alone now, against France and America. Two against one. It was finished it was…

"Surrender, _Angleterre_," France purred, hefting his gun, an exhausted smirk on his face.

"I…" England began, fists clenching on the wood. He bit his lip viciously before continuing. "It would appear I have no choice."

And with those words, he fell to his knees, defeated.

America surprised both himself and the other two Nations by smiling. A true genuine smile, saturated with relief. It was over now, all the fighting. And he had won, he had triumphed!

He was his own country now, free from England and all his stupid rules, free from all restrictions, free to do as he pleased. His head spun, and his heart thudded rapidly in his chest with the new sensation of freedom.

The Revolution was over. America had been formed.

* * *

**Historical Notes: General Henry Clinton replaced General Howe in 1778. Under him, Britain took a new approach to the war, deciding to target the South, where they could more easily access support from their Navy, and where there were a lot more Tory supporters. However, they were still not enough, and were weak allies, not contributing much at all to the war effort. **

**In 1779, the Spanish governor of Louisiana, José de Gálvez, attacked British forces, which, while not specifically done in order to help the Americans, did end up doing so to some degree. The replacement of Horatio Gates with the much more adequate General Nathanael Greene also helped along matters. **

**General Cornwallis, who had been left in charge by Clinton, eventually ended up retreating to Virginia, where he joined forces with American traitor Benedict Arnold (Arnold had fled after incriminating evidence of his scheme to later betray the Americans had been found on a British spy). **

**Clinton ordered Cornwallis to set up a base at Yorktown to await reinforcements by sea. However, the reinforcements did not arrive in time. In 1781, Washington, The Comte de Grasse, and the Comte de Rochambeau eventually cornered Cornwallis in Yorktown, through brilliant planning. **

**Cornwallis held out until October 17, and then asked for terms. Two days later, 7000 British soldiers, marched out of their lines and laid down their arms. The Revolution had more or less drawn to a close.**

**Translations:**

**Algo por el estilo - Something of the sort (I believe that's what it is ')**

**Claro que sí- Of course**


	22. Chapter 22

"Well, we're going to make a joint treaty, _oui_, _Amérique_?" France looked over at the younger Nation.

"Sure," America responded. "As long as I get a say in it…"

"Of course_, mon cher_," France assured, before moving on. "_Angleterre_, what are you willing to cede to _Amérique_ here…?"

"Cede…? Well, let's see," England mumbled, arms crossed. "I suppose the thirteen original colonies and…"

"Just nothing over the Appalachians!" Spain cut in brightly, interrupting England's train of thought.

"Well, I'd really rather have America take the Appalachians than…" England began, before being curtailed by France.

"But, _Angleterre_, you are not making this treaty, _oui_? It is up to us to decide."

Spain nodded enthusiastically in agreement. "And it would be in our best interest if—"

"I don't bleeding care what's in your best interest," England interrupted, getting rather irritated. "I still have the best navy, or have you forgotten the Armada?"

"But you lost the Revolution…" Spain tried to reason.

"I lost it to America, not to you two," England countered. "Especially not you, Spain."

"I did help out! I—" the Spaniard's defense was cut short.

"Hey, this is my treaty, too!" America interjected, reminding the others of his presence.

"_Oui, mon cher_," France replied placatingly, although he did not look away from England. "But just let Big Brother France handle it. I know how to take care of these things."

* * *

When the meeting was finally over, America wordlessly separated from the others. All throughout the Revolution, he had thought France understood. He had though that the European had sympathized with him and acknowledged America as a full-fledged country. And here he was, treating him like a child.

He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn't realize he was being followed until he reached the doorway. The expected thud of wood on wood didn't come after he passed through, catching his attention. Perplexed, he turned around, to see…

England. Staring at him with some mixture of mortification and annoyance. An awkward silence passed between the two.

"Uh…hello there, England," America greeted after a stretch.

The European seemed intent on trying to ignore the other's presence, but relented after awhile, realizing there was no way he could feasibly do so. "Hello, America."

It was then a brilliant idea struck the younger Nation. "Say, England…what would you say to making a separate treaty with me? Everything's just getting really complicated with France and…"

"I suppose," England agreed reluctantly. "Bloody Spain and France…trying to decide everything on their own. Opportunistic gits…"

"Yeah," America agreed, grinning in slight exasperation. The silence became slightly less awkward.

"So about those terms…" the European began, trailing off expectantly.

"We can talk about those in a moment; I just want to say…" the younger Nation watched his elder's expression carefully, trying to establish eye contact. "No hard feelings over the Revolution, okay?"

"I've learned my lesson," England replied, before continuing on grudgingly. "And America…you've grown up well. Still a foolish twit, but you're an adult now. And I can accept that."

"Thanks, England," America smiled, knowing that the older Nation was trying to apologize in his own weird way. Perhaps their relationship could still be salvaged.

* * *

**Historical Notes: As far as the peace negotiations went, France and America had pledged not to make separate peace treaties. However, Spain was allied with France, not America. The French wanted to keep America going, but were not by any means going to go out on a limb for the United States. In a conflict of interest between Spain and America, the French would most definitely side with the former. **

**This caused issues, because France wanted to limit American expansion over the Appalachians in order to protect Spanish interests in the eastern half of the Mississippi Valley. The Americans were, of course, unhappy with this. So, deciding they'd have better luck with Britain, the American commissioners decided to form a separate treaty with Britain after all. The British, while still bitter over the Revolution, would much rather see the Appalachians under English-speaking control, than that of Spain. They were surprisingly cooperative.**

**The final terms were that America would be officially recognized as a Nation, receive the land bordered by the Great Lakes, the Mississippi, and the Northern border of Florida (which was given over to Spain). The British would also withdraw their troops from American soil. In return, America would return all property and rights to the Tories that had been lost during the War. **

**This treaty was done around 1782, and the British and Americans had a lull in hostilities. They resumed active trade, as it was vital to both their economies. And things were pretty good until the War of 1812. Not quite sure what next chapter will be, but we'll get there eventually ^^**


	23. Chapter 23

"England, I thought we'd already established that I'm independent now. I'm not your little brother anymore," America asserted.

"America, I'm not—"

"I'm an adult now, you said it yourself. So if you're here to look out for me or whatever, leave!" the younger Nation finished, arms crossed resolutely.

"America, I'm not here for you," England frowned, and looked away. "I'm here for my own sake. It has absolutely nothing to do with you."

The younger blond paused momentarily, stung a bit, but shortly began again, newly incensed. "I don't care whose sake it's for! You agreed to stay out of my business, so take your troops and leave."

"Why should I? You haven't honored your end of the agreement, have you?" the Brit countered smugly.

"I…!" America clenched his fist, at a loss for words. "Don't make excuses! I don't need this right now, what with Spain…"

"What about me, _chico_?" the Spaniard cut in, seemingly popping out of nowhere.

"You were supposed to back off, too!" America complained, shaking his head in frustration. "What's with you guys? Especially you!"

He whirled back to face England. "Stop importing so many goods into my country. It's screwing up the economy."

"As I said, it's in my own interest," the older Nation replied, smirking. "It's not my fault your spiffing new government can't do anything about it."

"Spiffing…?" Spain chuckled to himself, ignored by the other two.

"Well, it wouldn't be a problem if you would stop being such an annoying jerk about it," America snapped, irritation reaching a new high. "It's like you're _playing_ with me or something. Just cut it out!"

"I'm only speeding up the inevitable," England reasoned. It was just the two of them now; Spain had wandered off elsewhere, mostly likely having lost interest. "If such minimal strain is significantly harming your government, there surely must be something wrong with it."

"There's nothing wrong with—ah…AH-CHOO!" America was cut off mid-sentence by the sneeze.

"Bless you," England replied automatically. "All right there?"

"Yeah," America snuffled a bit before continuing. "It's a just a little cold. Dealing with you guys isn't helping it out any, though."

"Ah…" England felt a slight pain of guilt shoot through him.

"But I'm still going to show you!" America was back to his previous composure, vehement and excited. "I'll show the world that I can make it on my own, that I'm not some stupid little kid."

"Whatever you say, America," the European appeased complacently. "Whatever you say."

* * *

**Historical Notes: After the Treaty was signed, the British only withdrew troops from the thirteen colonies, still maintaining their military posts outside the settled area. They later justified this by pointing out that the Americans hadn't made good on their promise to return property to the Tories (the government had complied, but the states did not cooperate). The states also made it difficult for the British to collect war debts. The British really just wanted to stay to maintain their control of the profitable fur trade.**

**Spain, meanwhile, refused to turn over Natchez (captured during the war) to the US, even though it was far north of Florida's boundary. More importantly, they also controlled the Mississippi and in 1784 closed it to American use. Americans needed it for their commerce transportation. Eventually the river was reopened again, but the Spanish could still deny them the right to "deposit" their goods at New Orleans at will. The Americans were not pleased with this set-up.**

**After the Revolution ended, Britain, eager to regain American markets, exported a vast amount of goods to them. American consumers rushed to buy these cheap British goods, after being deprived of them throughout the Revolution. This aggravated America's already unstable post-war economy, causing a minor depression. **

**An easy solution to this problem would have been to place protective tariffs on British goods in order to limit them, but the government did not have the authority to enforce a national tax. Individual states would put up tariffs, but the British merchants would just bring in goods through states without tariffs. **

**So a motion was created to give the government power to tax imports. All the states agreed to the measure, except for Rhode Island. However, a unanimous decision was required to pass any new legislature, and so the motion failed.**

**The idea of democracy was a "new" idea (the last example was the Roman Empire) so many were doubtful about how well it would work. Many even believed America would fall like the Roman Empire did, because of their similar government systems. Nobody really took America seriously at this point.**

**I really meant to have this up the day after the last drabble. But that didn't happen, obviously. This is really much closer to my normal update pattern ^^' I'm a lazy authoress...I apologize. Hope you liked the chapter!**


	24. Chapter 24

America sighed in relief, leaning back against the wall of his room, exhausted. The debates had vacillated back and forth for days, with propositions put forth again and again, only to be shot down immediately. Just when a bit of progress was made, another party would immediately intervene and bring up a new issue with the ideas laid down thus far, and the whole process would restart.

With the way matters were going, America, and many of his people involved in the project, feared no agreements would ever be made. Several times, representatives for different states had threatened to walk out. Time and time again, the same point were argued through thoroughly, only to be mashed to bits again hours later.

But it had ended, finally. The Constitution was written, most disagreements settled. And the states, through the joint efforts of Madison, Jay, and especially Hamilton, were eventually won over. Except for Rhode Island, the pesky little state. But it still passed, the nine necessary states reached.

America let himself slide to a sitting position against the wall, thoroughly worn out. Things were set in motion now. Only time would tell if the system would hold strong. America believed it would. The United States couldn't just fall apart after so much effort had been put into its creation, when America himself wished so fervently for it to stand sturdy and free.

"Yo!" an enthusiastic, unfamiliar voice, greeted. America opened his eyes in alarm, sitting up straight.

Before him stood some sort of dark-haired man, with sparkling eyes and two fingers up-held in a "V"-position. He wore some sort of tunic, clasped at one shoulder. But even stranger than the outlandish garb, was the presence the man had. The presence of a Nation…

"Who are you?" America questioned, his voice coming off more curious than threatening.

"I'm none other than the Roman Empire, supreme ruler of the Mediterranean!" the man declared, winking with a grin.

"Rome…"America whispered aloud it wonder. The country had been on the mind of many of his people lately. The last example of the democratic republic America aspired to be.

"The one and only!" Rome replied enthusiastically, before adopting a more serious, and rather unfitting tone. "I just came to talk to you. Remind you not make the same mistakes I did." A wistful smile overtook his features.

"A divided nation cannot stand. Any divisions will only make matters harder. Pay attention to the world, and don't let your people argue. Once the first cracks appear they will only ever get bigger. I was arrogant and foolish. I overextended, and thought I was invincible. No country is ever invincible. Or indivisible."

America nodded mutely, at a loss for words. And just like that, the man was back to his previous joviality. "Good luck now! And say 'hi' to my grandsons for me, if you ever run into either of them."

Before America could ask who Rome was referring to, he was gone, as suddenly as he came, leaving America with a mind full of questions, but a renewed resolve.

He wouldn't fall, no matter what. Washington was amazing; he'd take care of the country well. And as for his successors…so many of his men were brilliant. They would keep the country going strong.

America would be independent, would stand alone and powerful. He had gained independence from Britain, the major power of Europe (no matter it was with help from France).

Getting to his feet. America smiled at the setting sun, thinking of how much beauty and potential his country possessed. They would excel. America would make sure of it.

* * *

**Historical Notes:** **Under the Articles of Confederation, the states were sovereign, more or less independent entities, only held loosely together by a weak central government described as a "league of friendship". Each state received only one vote, no matter its size. The central government only had limited, specified powers, which did not include the ability to impose taxes, which as we know from last chapter, soon proved an issue.**

**Massachusetts was set on paying off its debts and so it raised taxes to levels the average farmer could not cope with. Foreclosures abounded, and the prisons were filled with debtors. In 1786, Daniel Shays, a Revolutionary veteran, lead a group of rebels into Springfield in order to stop the state supreme court from meeting, thereby forcefully preventing foreclosures. Although the rebels fell apart once government troops reached the scene, the violence disturbed many.**

**After a series of compromises, the Constitution was eventually formed. There were disagreements over whether state representation should be based on population, or whether it should be equal for all. This was solved by the Great Compromise. In the lower house—the House of Representatives—places would be assigned according to population and filled by popular vote, while in the upper house—the Senate—two seats were given to each state, regardless of population.**

**Southerners, of course, wanted the slaves to count as far as population records for seats in the House, although they had no intention whatsoever of giving them voting rights. Northerners, obviously, were against this because it would give the Southerners an unfair advantage. The Three-Fifths Compromise had three-fifths of the slave population count towards House seats, as well as for taxation, although federal taxation was not much of an issue until closer to the Civil War. **

**There was much disagreement over the controversy, forming two groups, the Federalists being pro-Constitution, and their opposition, the Anti-Federalists, being against it. The Federalists were mostly well-off individuals who would benefit from a sound government. The Anti-Federalists were mostly small farmers and debtors, to whom individual power was more important than governmental stability; they resented those in power.**

**However, despite the disputes, the Constitution was eventually ratified by all the states (sans Rhode Island) in about 1788. But since it had been agreed upon that the Constitution would go into power as soon as nine states agreed, Rhode Island's decision did no major harm. **

**The president was given a lot of power through the Constitution. He had general responsibility for executing laws, was the commander-in-chief of the armed forces, and the general supervisor of foreign relations. He was to appoint federal judges and other officials and was able to veto any law of Congress (although a two-thirds majority of both houses could over ride the veto). He was expected to deliver reports on the "State of the Union" every once in awhile and could recommend "such Measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient."**

**It is highly unlikely the Constitution's creators would have gone this far, if everyone were not certain that George Washington, a universally admired figure, would take the presidency. **

**More Notes, than story….heh. It should be getting better shortly; I'm just in a tough spot right now. Any suggestions would be lovely, but I'll try to get through this. On holiday right now, so I finally had some time to sit down and read through the material. And Rome-interaction was what I got. I apologize if it's bad….I just couldn't make you guys wait any longer -'**


	25. Chapter 25

George Washington sighed to himself, head in his hands. _President_: such a role to live up to, a role to _define_. He was a simple man through and through. A natural leader, a daring soul, but not brilliant. Just a man. Who was he to lead a country?

But how could he have declined, when everyone so fervently believed he would accept and make a wonderful president? He couldn't have. No, like it or not, he was to be the first head of this new country. "President of the United States…" Washington murmured aloud, letting the title and its intensity sink in.

"With all due respect, sir, I'm sure you saw it coming," a younger voice answered from beside him.

The older man glanced up, unfazed by the sudden new presence. "I've told you not to call me, sir. We've been through enough together, and if anyone is deserving of respect, it should be you." His tone was stern and serious, but not unkind.

"We sure have, sir—I mean…Washington?" America tested out the name. The other nodded in approval, but remained quiet. A short silence passed.

"I was just stopping by to wish you luck," the young Nation scratched at his left arm. "With the inauguration and everything. My people…our people…they really admire you. They're thrilled. But I'm sure you've noticed…"

"America…" Washington trailed off, looking out the window at the rising sun.

"Yes, sir?" America replied out of habit, before correcting himself. "I mean, Washington?"

"What do you think, if you'll pardon my asking?" his gaze was back on his Nation, eyes uncharacteristically soft with a hidden apprehension.

"I think you'll make an amazing president," America replied, without missing a beat. "You've been through so much with me, and you never once gave up. You always kept going and held things together, even when we seemed to be losing. Without you, I'd still be with…England."

"You miss him still." It wasn't a question, but a statement. America paused with his mouth open, not sure how to respond.

"I do," he admitted after a stretch. "But I like being independent. Being free. England…never let me do so many things."

"Hearing you talk about other countries…" Washington shook his head in muted amazement. "It's the most peculiar thing. I'm not sure I'll ever quite be sure what to make of you."

"Why make anything of me?" America turned to face the window. "I'm America. That's really all there is to it."

"But you're so human…"

"Aren't countries made of humans?" the young Nation countered. A grin broke out over his features. "You'll make a great president, Washington. I believe in you."

"Thank you, America," Washington stood to shake his hand. "That means more than you could ever guess."

* * *

**Historical Notes: Washington was elected president in 1789, with John Adams as his vice-president. The Americans were very enthusiastic. Cheering crowds greeted him along his journey from his home at Mount Vernon to New York, the temporary capital where the inauguration would take place. **

**He was very firm, dignified, and conscientious, but also cautious, knowing whatever actions he made as president would set the mold for his successors. He was very careful of Congress, believing that the president should not push legislature, or even propose it, and only use the veto when a bill was unconstitutional. He took the separation of powers very seriously.**

**He stressed the dignity of office, and tried to make it appear respectable to the rest of the world by employing a degree of splendor. He had twenty-one servants, and a carriage drawn by six cream-colored horses.**

**Although the Constitution never mentioned the Cabinet system, Washington had a habit of consulting with his department heads for advice, starting the trend. He always asked advice, and respected others opinions, but was a strong president, always able to come up with a solution, even if it was long in the making. **

**It's so awkward writing historical characters ^^' I hope I didn't botch Washington up too bad. That would be terrible… **


	26. Chapter 26

"So how's it going, being president?" America asked, taking up his usual post at the window seat.

"The people are reassured, now that they have their Bill of Rights, but there are other issues arising," Washington replied, laying his quill down as he shuffled his paperwork.

"Issues such as…?" America inquired, crossing his arms loosely.

"Jefferson and Hamilton have never really gotten along, and Hamilton's new financial plans haven't made it any better," Washington leant back in his chair. "They've been pulling me right and left with this…both their points are valid."

"But…what's the problem exactly?" America further questioned, wanting to help.

"This new bank Hamilton wants to create. He argues it's authorized, Jefferson disagrees. It is a debate about the elastic clause interpretation more than anything else. But those two always seem to be looking for excuses to argue."

"Ah…" America hummed sympathetically, although he truly understood only about half of what was said.

"I apologize. It's rude of me to burden you with these concerns. I'm sure you have your own busy agenda." The president fanned out his papers, selecting a new one to work on.

"Not really, actually," the young Nation admitted, looking away out the window. He always enjoyed the outdoors, ever since he was child, but the city outside was still enjoyable to look at. He loved all parts of his country, even the cities. They were bigger now, growing larger each year. New York was bigger than even London now…

_England_. America felt a slight twinge as he thought the name, but he would have pushed it aside if not for the president's next inquiry.

"How have matters been fairing with Britain, if I may ask?" Washington interjected into the silence, placing a finished paper aside.

"He's been…touchy. I've asked him about his posts over here, but he refuses to do anything about it. He can be so stubborn sometimes," America clenched his fists in irritation, before his expression softened considerably. "But he was so nice to me when I was younger. He wasn't even all that strict until I got older. I miss those days…"

Washington put down his quill again, an odd expression of mixed sympathy and indecision on his face. "He sounds like…like a good caretaker. I know you two were close. It must have been hard."

"Yeah…" America admitted, brushing something from his eyes. "We had some good times. But…it's over now. I'm my own country, now, and I wouldn't give that up for anything."

Washington displayed a rare smile, before returning once more to his work. "That is good to hear."

America continued gazing out the window, listening to the soft scritch-scratch of feather on paper. He wondered how long it would be until he stopped thinking of England.

* * *

**Historical Notes: The Bill of Rights was drafted by James Madison in 1789. It was made to protect individual rights from the government. Many only agreed to ratify the Constitution because they were promised such a document. It soothed much of the remaining opposition to the Constitution. **

**Alexander Hamilton was a strong nationalist, believing in a strong centralized government. He wished to reduce the states to mere administrative units, like English counties. Appointed Secretary of State in October 1789, he resolved America's large post-Revolution debt and shaky financial standing by "paying off" all debts, both foreign and citizen. Most of the money was actually owed to citizens. **

**Part of his plan was for the debt of all the states to be assumed by the federal government. The southerners were opposed to this, as most of the debt was concentrated in the North. A compromise was eventually made between Jefferson, Hamilton, and Madison. Jefferson, speaking for the South, agreed to Hamilton's plan, on the condition that the permanent capital would be located in the South. It was placed on the Potomac River. **

**Hamilton also wished to establish a National Bank, to better store government funds and control the circulation of money. Jefferson disagreed, saying the "elastic clause"—granting Congress the right to pass "all Laws which shall be necessary and proper"—needed to be interpreted literally in order to keep Congress in check. The Bank was not necessary, and so it was not authorized, he believed.**

**However, Hamilton believed the opposite: that the Bank's creation fell under these implied powers, as he did not interpret them literally. Washington, although not entirely convinced, sided with Hamilton, and the Bank was created. **

**Hamilton and Jefferson did not get on well. Not at all. They had very different view on how the country should be run, Jefferson fearing centralization would bring about the "corruption" of English society, while Hamilton favored a strong central government, and admired English society.**

**Hope you like it, and that Washington is still alright. Other countries shall be coming in again shortly~ **


	27. Chapter 27

"America." England acknowledged, sitting down across from his previous charge, legs crossed at the knee.

"Hi..." America returned lamely, glancing off to the side. His negotiator was talking with England's bosses, but with the distance, he could only just make out what was being said. Jay was listing their complaints it seemed.

"How are you fairing?" England inquired with a polite stiffness, as if he had been told to ask and was only grudgingly complying.

"Pretty ok," America responded, and out of habit added, "And you?"

"Fine," England folded his hands neatly in his lap. "Just fine."

An awkward silence passed between the two. America tried to think for something to say, anything that could possibly break the lull, but his mind blanked. Since when had it been so difficult to speak to England?

"How do you think negotiations are going?" he finally questioned, as soon as the question crossed his mind.

"Fine, I'm sure," England muttered, folding his hands in his lap.

"Are you trying to avoid conversation?" America inquired, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

"Haven't the slightest clue what you mean," England evaded, before getting fluidly to his feet.

"England, I—" Despite America's protests, the other walked over to his leaders, standing beside them to join in on the conversation, never sparing his former colony a single glance.

"England…" He should go over to Jay now. Matters were finishing and they'd be leaving soon.

But he felt entirely uneasy, and no matter how hard he tried…

He couldn't stop thinking of England.

* * *

"_¡Hola,_ _chico!_" Spain greeted, back to his usual cheerful self. "You've gotten so big!"

"Hey, Spain," America couldn't help but feel slightly suspicious. "What's up?"

"Oh, just checking in, no big deal," Spain waved a hand to emphasize his point. "How have things been with you? It feels ages since we last talked."

"It does," America responded, trying to return the amiable tone, despite his confusion. Why was Spain being nice to him all of a sudden, after so many years of dislike? "Things have been good."

"Wonderful to hear," Spain positively beamed, before his expression darkened ever so slightly. "How have matters with England been coming along?"

"Oh, he's been…England," America shrugged, not wanting to get into the details with someone who had behaved so coldly towards him not very long ago.

Spain reacted to the statement, although America couldn't discern exactly how. He seemed almost happy about it, but there was such a caking of sympathy (false?) that it was nearly impossible to tell how he really felt about the news.

At least, with close scrutiny. America was almost certain the Spaniard would come off as merely sympathetic to a moment's quick inspection.

"Ah, that's rather unfortunate," Spain clapped him soundly on the shoulder. "You were such a cute little boy, and you've gotten so much older: I can't believe it!"

"Yeah…" America smiled half-heartedly. A short silence passed.

"Well, I've got to get going…" Spain turned to leave, hand raised in a wave. "It was nice talking to you!"

"Yeah…you, too."

* * *

**Historical notes: Washington sent John Jay to England to work out a treaty accommodating the conflicts between the two countries. England honestly did want to work things out, but they were also riding a wave of victories in Europe, and as such, were not eager to make concessions.**

**Under Jay's Treaty, the British agreed to evacuate points in the West, compensate American ship-owners for seizures in the West Indies, open up their colonies in Asia to American ships. However, they ignored the Americans' request for them to respect neutral rights on sea. **

**Americans, for their part, were committed to paying their remaining pre-Revolutionary debts. Most of the stuff gained in the treaty already technically belonged to them, causing much protest. Americans insisted Jay could have driven a much harder bargain. **

**Fearing a joint Anglo-American attack on Louisiana and its other American possessions, Spain sought a treaty to improve relations with the United States. The king's chief minister, Manuel de Godoy, offered American envoy Thomas Pinckney a treaty granting free navigation of the Mississippi River and the right of deposit at New Orleans that the Americans so desperately needed, as well as accepting the American version of the border between Spanish Florida and the United States. This became popularly known as Pinckney's Treaty.**

**Happy Hanukkah, to those that celebrate ^^ I made some (sort of) potato pancakes. They included random vegetables...my hands still smell like onions **


	28. Chapter 28

"I can't help right now, France, I…"

"But, _Amérique_, I helped you with your Revolution," France paced forward, a mad gleam in his blue eyes. "Surely you must understand?"

"I do, but I can't…" America stepped back, dodging out of the older Nation's reach.

"But the treaty, _Amérique, mon cher!_" he stepped toward the younger Nation, managing to slip an arm around his shoulders. "Your people support us, so why won't you?"

"You're going too far," America shook his head. "You…you killed your king. He was innocent."

"Specifics," France half shrugged his free arm, disconcertingly nonchalant. "Would your colonists not have done the same to _Angleterre's_ king, had it been feasible?"

"Of course not!" America jerked out of the other Nation's grasp. "They wanted freedom, but they're not…they're not savages! My people would never—"

"So you think," France contradicted, that same devil-may-care tone creeping back into his voice. America felt a shiver trail down his spine. "Your people are just as capable of such violen—"

America backed away, slapping away the older man's hand when he reached for him once again. "Not against themselves!"

"_Au contraire, mon enfant_," The smile on France's face was bordering on deranged, the corners of his lips twitching manically. "You will see in time…"

"I won't!" America shook his head vehemently, eyes screwed shut. "I won't have any part in this!"

"_Amérique_…" France reached out a single hand, his suddenly composed expression not quite hiding the underlying glint of madness.

"I'm not getting involved," America insisted once more, adamant, before walking away.

The shudders didn't subside.

* * *

"You're leaving?" America inquired, feeling a lump grow in his throat, as he watched Washington gather his belongings.

"Yes," Washington replied, sweeping some personal paperwork—letters and the like—into a neat stack. "I am old. It's time for a younger man to step up, and I feel I've earned my rest."

"Definitely," America agreed, as his former boss gathered a few more assorted items. "You've been a wonderful president."

"I'm glad," the old man paused in his packing, straightening up to face his Nation, "to personally receive a compliment from my country himself. It's not an everyday occurrence. I just hope you'll get along with my successor…"

"I'm sure I will," America reassured, offering a warm smile. "Adams, wasn't it?"

"Yes…" Washington affirmed, a distracted air to his voice. He became suddenly grim. "America…can you make me a promise?"

America perked up, interested and attentive. "Anything, sir—I mean…Washington."

"After all these years," Washington smiled briefly at the boy's slip-up. "But in all seriousness, my friend…I'm concerned about our country's future. Your future."

"What…?" America responded, confused and beginning to panic, thinking back on what France had said. "What do you mean?"

"Divisions are arising within us," Washington shuffled over to his chair, wearily. "Political parties…differences. Foreign alliances. Promise me, you'll try your best to keep this country united, and out of the matters of other Nations as best you can. I know your circumstances…"

Washington paused, gauging the Nation's reaction. Once satisfied, he continued, solemnly. "No matter what anyone says, I'm just one man. I can't convince them. But as our country…surely they'll listen to you. Surely…"

America felt a sudden weight in his chest, a mass of responsibility and nerves. "I promise to try…Washington. I'll try my absolute best."

"That's the most I can hope for," Washington allowed another rare smile to pass over his lips.

America moved to stand beside Washington as he struggled to his feet, lending an arm. "Careful there…"

"Thank you," Washington sighed, now firmly up. "I'm not as young as I used to be. Not like you, my friend."

America smiled, before offering to help Washington carry his belongings out. It would be strange not having the man around. He looked back over his shoulder, trying to imagine Adams in Washington's chair.

Very strange indeed.

* * *

**Historical Notes: In 1789, the French Revolution began, war breaking out four years later between France and the rest of Europe. The Alliance of 1778 obligated America to defend the French West Indies "forever against all other powers." With the British in Canada and Spanish forces to the west and south, it would be extremely unwise for America to go to war against Britain and Spain, despite their alliance. **

**When France first declared itself a republic in 1792, the revolution was supported enthusiastically by many Americans, as they felt it showed that democratic ideals were spreading around the world. Increasing radicalism dampened the enthusiasm, but when French representative Edmond Charles Genet arrived, he was received well. **

**Illegally, he began licensing American vessels to operate as privateers against British shipping and to grant French military commissions to a number of Americans in order to form attacks against the Spanish and British possessions in North America. **

**Washington demanded Genet stop his illegal activities, but he appealed to the citizens, and continued, exasperating even Jefferson, who was very sympathetic to the French Revolution. But soon enough, changing events in the Revolution found his replacement's arrival in America, with an order for his arrest. Genet then pleaded for political asylum in America, which was granted. He settled down, and started a family.**

**Political parties began to form at this time: the Federalists around Alexander Hamilton, believing in a strong centralized government, while the Jeffersonians(Republicans)—rallied around Thomas Jefferson—were more skewed towards individual farmers and states rights. **

**The rift was strengthened by growing controversy over the French Revolution. With French monarch Louis XVI's execution, increasing radicalism alarmed many Americans. However, the Jeffersonians, while shocked, continued to defend the French Revolution. The Federalists, in opposition, began to idealize the British, who were fighting this movement. **

**Washington, in his "Farewell Address" to the nation, urged the people to avoid both "inveterate antipathies" and "passionate attachments to any foreign nation". He feared foreign involvement and internal divisions would weaken the country. Nothing alarmed him more than the sight of Americans diving into "French" and "English" factions.**

**Despite his urging, the Election of 1796 left the two parties on bad terms with one another. Jefferson was elected by the Republicans, John Adams and Thomas Pinckney by the Federalists, as Hamilton was too controversial. Hamilton was partial to Pinckney, and so tried to arrange for some of the Federalist electors to choose him. New Englanders that caught wind of this cut Pinckney. **

**Adams won the electoral college, 71 to 68, over Jefferson, who became his vice-president. (Pinckney only got 59 votes) Despite their different parties, Adams preferred Jefferson to Pinckney, and the two bonded through their common dislike of Hamilton.**

**I personally had fun writing the chapter...I hope it's okay. Jay's Treaty should chronically be in the middle here, but I feel it made more sense this way. Just a bit. **

**I shall be very busy (tests and stuff) until break, which starts Thursday, but I'll see if I can get anything up on the weekends. Hope you liked the chapter :D**


	29. Chapter 29

"Talk to France?" America repeated, hoping he had misheard. After his last encounter with the European Nation, he had no desire to see him again anytime soon.

"Yes," Adams replied, shuffling papers on his desk. He was shorter than Washington, and a bit plumper. America wondered if he would get used to the change of presidents with time. "I'm sending over three commissioners with you. Try your best to negotiate some sort of end to the attacks."

"Okay," America agreed reluctantly, as he really had no choice in the matter. Nations had to obey their leaders, like it or not. "I'll try my best."

The only answer he received was a distracted nod. America had, of course, seen Adams around before his election, but he had never specifically interacted with him. He was finding he didn't much enjoy it.

Sighing to himself, he left the presidential office, readying himself to speak with France. He missed Washington.

* * *

"_Amérique!_" France exclaimed, enveloping him in a hug. "So you've decided to help our cause?"

The younger Nation stiffened, the embrace becoming much too intimate for his comfort. A hand slid lower, and he instantly jerked away.

"No, I'm not," America contradicted, eyes narrowing. "I'm here to negotiate a treaty, about your attacks on my ships. I…"

The younger Nation glanced off to the side momentarily, France's gaze making him uneasy. The older Nation seized the opportunity to move closer, and plant a swift kiss on his lips.

America blanched, and immediately shot back as the Frenchman tried to grope a rather inappropriate place. "France, what the hell are you doing?" he slapped the other man's hands away. "I want to make a—France, what the fuck? Cut it out!"

"Now, now, _mon cher,_" France was close again—how did he keep doing this?—one hand running skillfully through America's hair, massaging his scalp. He could feel himself relaxing involuntarily.

"Just calm down, and let Big Brother France take care of you." Another kiss, deeper this time.

"St…stop it!" America shouted, forcefully shoving France away from him. "What the hell is wrong with you? I…I'm leaving." And with that, the younger Nation darted away, back to meet up with his commissioners. Screw the treaty.

* * *

"So you were not able to put an end to matters?" Adams questioned calmly from his seat at his desk.

"No," America ground out, rather more bitterly than he had intended.

Adams raised an eyebrow.

"I…I wouldn't be opposed to going to war with him myself," America glanced off to the side, obviously in bad humor.

"You and most of our people," Adams admitted, a tone of disdain in his voice. "It's a foolish idea."

"If most of the people are for it…"

"I, for one, am not," Adams interrupted. He scribbled something down, the scratch of his quill grating on the young Nation's ears. But he paused, waiting for the man to justify his position. "We don't need another war right now. I'm not all that fond of France either, but I don't want this country to run into the ground so soon. Even if divided, France is still a somewhat formidable Nation. I'm not positive we can handle such a battle yet, and there's no need to risk it."

"I suppose…" America vacillated, still not completely at ease. "But my people want this."

"It's for their own good that I choose not to accommodate those wishes." Adams replied coolly.

"Their own good…" America mimicked. Where had he heard that before?

* * *

"I'm not going back there," America insisted, trying his absolute best to resist. In the end he knew, Adams could force him to go, but he hoped the man would have some kind of pity. "Not after what he did…what he tried to do last time. Just send the commissioners. I want nothing more to do with him."

Adams touched the end of the quill to his chin reflectively, watching the Nation before him. His blue eyes were earnestly pleading, obvious dismay strewn generously throughout their depths. Adams was no sentimental man, but even he could tell the young man was truly adamant about not wanting to renegotiate with the other nation. He wondered what could have possibly happened during their last meeting, but decided against asking.

"Very well, I'll just send over the commissioners for now. But if France, the…personification?" Adams stumbled over the word before continuing. "If he refuses to make a decision without first speaking to you, then I'll have no other option than to make you go."

America nodded, hoping the Frenchman would not make such a request. Matters had only been worsening with each visit, so he shuddered to think what should happen on his next.

* * *

**Historical Notes: France began attacking American ships out of irritation over Jay's treaty and desire to influence the 1796 Election. But they continued even after John Adams was elected. Feeling matters had gone far enough, Adams sent three commissioners—Charles Pinckney, John Marshall, and Elbridge Gerry—to seek negotiations with France to end the attacks.**

**XYZ affair: Talleyrand, the French foreign minister, sent an agent "X" to ask for a bribe in exchange for a treaty. The same was asked by two other agents, "Y" and "Z". More out of good faith in Talleyrand than opposition to paying a bribe, the commissioners refused.**

**Most Americans were outraged about the whole occurrence. Federalists were all for war with France, while the Republicans were not. Adams was considered a "national hero".**

**Congress unilaterally ended the French Alliance, created a Navy Department, and began amassing ships. On the seas, American privateers began to attack French shipping. Adams didn't really like the French, and a declaration of war would have been popular, but he could be rather stubborn and did not care for popularity. Instead of calling for war, he simply approved the buildup of forces.**

**Republicans were upset by this as, although a bit angered by the XYZ affair, they were dedicated to friendship with France. They did their best to inhibit the "war efforts" mostly through propaganda. One example is their reference to Adams as "His Rotundity". Many feared they would side with France, should war break out.**

**The Alien and Sedition Acts were a series of repressive measures, mostly intended to slow immigration, as "native" Americans—descendants of the original settlers of the 13 colonies—were being threatened by too many newcomers.**

**-****Naturalization Act****: increased the period a foreigner had to reside in the United States before being eligible for citizenship from 5 to 14 years.**

**-****Alien Enemies Act****: gave the president the power to arrest or expel aliens in times of "declared" war.**

**-****Alien Act****: authorized the president to expel all aliens whom he felt "dangerous to the peace and safety of the United States."**

**-****Sedition Act****: made it a crime to impede any law enforcement, to start a riot, or publish—or even speak—any "false, scandalous and malicious" criticism of high government officials.**

**In response to these acts, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison drew up resolutions declaring the laws unconstitutional. These were called the Kentucky and Virginia Resolutions. They made no attempt to impede the enforcement of the laws, taking a very calm approach.**

**Hamilton wished to go to war, if not against France, against Spain. But Adams kept steady. He sent new negotiators to France, which was now under Napoleon. By the end, the Convention of 1800 was signed, voiding the Franco-American treaties of 1778.**

**Eh…this didn't come off as too anti-Adams did it? - -; I don't know why that happened...**

**I should definitely have pretty consistent updates throughout the remainder of my break, so you can look forward to that. Happy Holidays if I'm not back before then ^^**


	30. Chapter 30

"That was a bit close, wasn't it?" America greeted jokingly, shaking Jefferson's hand. Another switch already, but at least he was more familiar with the new president this time.

"That it was," Jefferson replied amiably before adding, in a slightly miffed tone, "It was mostly Burr's fault. He knew he was meant for the vice-presidency, but he wouldn't give it up."

America nodded understandingly.

A small silence passed between them, before Jefferson spoke up again, manner once again pleasant, that of a man reuniting with an old friend. "It's been awhile! How was it with Adams?"

"Eh…" America shrugged. "Not that bad. A tad awkward, but I got used to it. Mostly he was just sort of…formally stiff. Just a bit."

"I see," Jefferson took a seat. "I'll try my best to change that. The country is developing too quickly, and starting to skew towards the rich. I hope to change that during my term."

When he absentmindedly picked up the quill, America recalled the Declaration, and the passion he had put into drafting it. "Just…please try and take everyone into consideration. A lot of people are concerned about what you're going to do."

"With little reason," Jefferson assured, the corners of his mouth perking upwards with just the slightest hint of laughter. "I know my limits."

"That's good," America smiled, and took up his usual window seat post. Not quite like Washington, but closer than Adams. He and Jefferson had gotten along well during the Revolution, having been of similar age at the time. Everyone around him seemed to be aging so quickly.

* * *

"Spain is giving Louisiana to France," Jefferson announced, watching as the alarm he felt slowly spread itself over the young Nation's face.

"But why…?" America questioned, confused.

"I don't know," Jefferson answered, visibly perturbed. "I've sent over Livingston, but he hasn't gotten anywhere. New Orleans has been closed down to us. Napoleon could be planning anything. I'm sending Monroe over now to help with matters, and…"

He paused, knowing the reaction wouldn't be good. "I want you to go as well."

"To talk to France?" America inquired, resistance on the tip of his tongue. "But I…"

"I know, America," Jefferson was not one to get over-excited easily, but his urgency was clear. "Napoleon is sending troops to Haiti to recapture it, and once accomplished there, they'll head to Louisiana. From there, there's no telling what he'll do next. But France is not the minor threat Spain was. With them on our border, the country might very well be in danger. _You_ might be in danger. We need to take action, now."

"I know, but…" the protest died on his lips. "I'll go."

"Best of luck," Jefferson wished, as America headed out of his office, preparing himself to talk with the older Nation. He could do this…

* * *

"Hey…France," America greeted, carefully watching the other Nation. He wasn't going to let him get to him this time around.

"_Bonjour, Amérique_," France returned the welcome, stepping forward to place kisses on the younger Nation's cheeks in his traditional greeting. But then he retreated, with no more than a second glance.

An odd sense of disappointment melded into America's immediate relief. He had expected more of an issue, and while pleasantly surprised, felt rather childish for having made such a big deal of the previous affair. France obviously hadn't.

They returned without incident to the sides of their respective leader. Napoleon was several inches shorter than all assembled and looked none to happy about it.

And so the negotiations began.

* * *

"We got so much land!" America exclaimed, obviously excited.

Jefferson glanced up from his paperwork, startled. "How much?"

"So much!" America persisted. Jefferson dug out a map for him to point the area out on, but the young Nation only stared at it blankly. "I'm not really sure where it is…but it's a lot!"

"A lot…" Jefferson repeated, reflective. "I don't know that we need that much more land. But as long as it includes New Orleans and the surrounding area…"

"It does!" America responded, extremely enthused. His blue eyes were shining with such exhilaration, that Jefferson felt the boy would soon burst. "I have to go look around, I…"

"Not right now, surely?" Jefferson reasoned, surprised.

"Well I…" America checked himself, but not without a palatable degree of disappointment. "I guess…"

* * *

**Historical Notes: In the Election of 1800, the Federalists ran Adams as president, losing 65 to 73. The Republicans however, had a dilemma. Jefferson and Burr, the two candidates, had gotten an equal number of votes from the Electoral College. The Constitution did not distinguish between presidential and vice presidential candidates, but it had been intended all along that Burr would be the vice-president. **

**Still, the Constitution required the House to decide on the vice-president, since the votes were an equal 73 each. Burr should have withdrawn. The deadlock was eventually broken by Hamilton, who, while disliking Jefferson, detested Burr. **

**Jefferson had no desire to surround himself with riches and ceremony. He asked to be notified of his election by mail, rather than committee, and after his inauguration, he returned on foot to his boarding house to eat dinner. He disliked the decadence of British society and felt it bred corruption. Because of this, he disliked industrialization, and supported individual farmers. **

**When Jefferson learned shortly after his election that Spain had given Louisiana back to France, he was immediately cautious. It brought into question the status of Pinckney's treaty, and whether or not they would go after Canada, etc. Worried, he sent Robert R. Livingston to seek assurances that American rights in New Orleans would be respected and to negotiate the purchase of western Florida in case that region had also been turned over to France. **

**Napoleon had plans to use Louisiana—signed over to the French by the Spanish through the "secret" Treaty of San Ildefonso—as a breadbasket for the French West Indian sugar plantations. **

**However, the main island, Saint Dominique (Hispaniola) had escaped French control through a revolt under Toussaint Louverture in 1801, while the French were otherwise occupied with the French Revolution. Napoleon, taking advantage of the lull of war in Europe, sent 20,000 men under General Charles Leclerc to re-conquer it.**

**When Jefferson learned of this, he was alarmed, urging Livingston to again attempt purchase of New Orleans and Florida, or to at least buy a tract of land near the mouth of the Mississippi where a new port could be constructed. **

**In 1802, the Spanish, who had not yet turned over Louisiana, suddenly revoked the right of deposit at New Orleans. Jefferson immediately perceived this as an action of the French. He sent Monroe with a proposal to give $10 million for New Orleans and Florida, and open negotiations for a "closer connection" with Britain if this could not be obtained. **

**The Leclerc expedition was a disaster, mostly due to the strike of yellow fever, which knocked out Leclerc, as well as most of his force. No longer able to spare troops, as fighting began anew in Europe, and in need of money, Napoleon was open for negotiation. In April he had Talleyrand offer not only New Orleans, but all of Louisiana to the Americans. Livingston was given two days to think over the matter.**

**Having no instructions, Livingston was at a loss for what to do. When Monroe arrived the next day, they deliberated, and after negotiations with the French, secured the land for 60 million francs, about $15 million.**

**Jefferson did not believe the government had the power under the Constitution to add new territory or to grant American citizenship to the 50,000 residents of Louisiana by the executive act, as the treaty required. In the end, he gave up and decided to just overlook the issue. Though many were hesitant about what lay in the new land, the purchase was popular, even in New England. **

**I hope everyone's okay in this chapter. Namely Jefferson.** **Merry Christmas Eve/Christmas and Happy Holidays of whatever sort you celebrate! Shall try to get more up tomorrow!**


	31. Chapter 31

"How was it?" Jefferson asked politely, as America walked in. He hadn't seen the young man for a while now, as he had been off with Lewis and Clark exploring the Louisiana Purchase. Initially, Jefferson had been against it, concerned about the safety of it all, but on America's insistence that he would be fine, he had at last given in.

"Amazing!" America replied, eyes bright with that familiar light. "It's so big, and there are so many different kinds of plants, and people, and…it's beautiful."

"Glad to hear it," Jefferson replied with a smile, before his expression darkened. "I regret to inform you, that during your absence, Hamilton has passed away."

America's bright exterior vanished, replaced with numbed shock. "Hamilton dead? What happened?"

"He challenged Burr to a duel, and was fatally injured," Jefferson replied, a hint of sadness in his matter-of-fact tone. "He was no friend of mine, but I would never have wished death on him."

"Oh," America replied, at a loss for words. He hadn't been particularly close to Hamilton either but it had still been a shock. Although no where near the shock he had received when notified of Washington's death. He shuddered thinking back on it.

"Also, troops are searching for Burr as we speak," Jefferson continued.

America perked up, confused. "Because of the duel?"

"No, it seems he and a certain James Wilkinson were making plans to break Louisiana away. They were raising troops. But luckily, Wilkinson turned him in last minute."

"Ah," America hummed, again at a loss forwards. Gone for a few years, and so much had happened.

Then again, years were a long stretch of time for humans.

* * *

"England, you've got to stop this!" America shouted, watching as the older Nation's face remained impassive. "You can't just stop my ships, and take my sailors. They have rights, they…"

"..are British citizens," England interrupted, voice harsh. "All of your people are British citizens."

"They are not!" America contradicted, vehement. "They're Americans. Speaking of which, you have no right to tell me who I can trade with!"

"Don't be daft," the Brit scoffed, crossing his arms, "if it's helping that git France I have every right to get involved."

"I thought you were going to respect me as an adult now," America's voice softened, the hurt clear. "I thought you meant that. I thought you were going to stop."

He expected England to soften in turn, for that guilty expression to seep into those familiar emerald eyes, for the hard grimace to ease into a sheepish smile. But it didn't come.

Instead, the Brit merely turned away wordlessly. He was gone before America could lift his head.

* * *

"The Embargo will suspend all American exports, in order to protect our men, ships, and dignity," Jefferson explained, watching for America's reaction.

"I don't understand," the young Nation began, slightly alarmed. "I know I haven't been getting along all that well with France and England but, to cut off all trade?"

"It's the only way to make sure this all ends," Jefferson persisted, stubborn. "I'm not going to have them pushing us around continuingly. They need to know we'll take action, or else we'll never gain their respect. "

The wording struck a chord in America. "Gain their respect…" he repeated numbly, thinking back to the conversation he and England had not so long ago.

If this was what it would take, so be it.

* * *

"This isn't working," American voiced honestly, shortly after. "Everyone hates it, and our economy is deteriorating."

"It's a necessary measure," Jefferson insisted brusquely, determination clear. "If people would abide by it, and stop trying to get around it, we would see better results. Going through Canada…"

"Leave my brother out of this," America interjected, tone suddenly sharp. "This whole act was a mistake. It's time you admit it."

"It's the only resolution," Jefferson persisted once again.

America sighed. That was Jefferson, passionate and set in his ways. And so he would maintain his opinion on the Embargo until he left office.

* * *

**Historical Notes: The Essex Junto (a Federalist group under Timothy Pickering) tried and failed to capture New York and secede from the Union, once Aaron Burr became governor. Burr, still at odds with Hamilton who had campaigned against him, challenging him to a duel. He accepted, in order to preserve his honor, but was fatally injured on July 11, 1804, dying shortly after.**

**Washington died December 14th, 1799 at age 63, after falling ill due to exposure to a sleet storm at his home in Mount Vernon :'(**

**Lewis and Clark explored the Louisiana Purchase at Jefferson's orders with a Shoshone woman, Sacagawea, and her French-Canadian husband serving as translators. They brought back plant and animal specimens, along with detailed observations on their journey. Also, they negotiated with Native American tribes in an attempt to improve relations. **

**Burr Conspiracy: Aaron Burr made plans to break the Louisiana Territory off from America. He tried to negotiate with the British for aid; worked with James Wilkinson, governor of the territory, who, for whatever reason, turned him in last minute. He was finally captured in 1807, after trying to escape to Spanish Florida. **

**By 1807, Napoleon had taken over most of mainland Europe. He and Britain fought back and forth at first, the British navy triumphing and the French army winning, They then turned to sabotage of each other's economies, via blockades and counter blockades like the Continental System. **

**Rule of War of 1756: Britain denied neutrals the rights to engage in trade they were not usually able to do in times of peace. This was usually circumvented by passing goods through America, boosting their economy, until the British eventually forbid them to continue the practice. **

**Britain, in times of war, could recruit any able-bodied man at will. Often ships would stop passing British ships and impress the required men, but they began doing this to American ships, rudely taking Americans. **

**Many British left their military to join America's, and many were not legal citizens, but many were also naturalized or even natural- born Americans. Britain often released native-born Americans, but refused to stop impressments.**

**From 1803 to 1807 the French and British captured and attacked hundreds of American ships. To rectify this, Jefferson passed the Embargo Act: it forbidding all American exports. Goods could still be imported, but few would voluntarily drop off goods for nothing in return. **

**It was intended to preserve American dignity, and protect their ships, but it was very unpopular. Many tried to get around it, by smuggling goods through Canada, or stopping for "repairs" in foreign ports, etc. Instead of admitting his failure, Jefferson tried to enforce the Act, putting militia men on the Border and such. The judges and courts were reluctant to punish violators of the act.**

**Jefferson left office on a bitter note, despite his accomplishments, the Non-Intercourse Act replacing the Embargo; it only barred American exports from England and France, and allowed presidents to declare the measure void once the threat passed.**

**Okay…there are so many reasons why this wasn't up earlier, but I'm not going to give you a list of excuses. I hope it's all right. It's 4:27 in the morning as I finish typing this, probably later once it's uploaded and all. Will try to not take as long with the next update. Hope it's intelligible :]**


	32. Chapter 32

"Oh…hey," America glanced up from his hands, voice without his usual enthusiasm.

"Hello," Madison set his bag down, looking around the office absently. He extended his hand to America, who shook it apathetically.

Treading softly over to the chair, he sat down. He looked so small compared to Jefferson, sitting in that high-backed chair. But he sat perfectly erect, as if to prove his capability.

Initially America was not up to breaking the silence that persisted. He was upset, hurt that the last weeks of Jefferson's office term had been filled with conflict. Not just between himself and a president—as had happened on a lesser scale before, and would certainly happen again—but between himself and Jefferson, who he considered a friend.

It brought back what England had told him once, about the difficulties of being a Nation. One could not have normal relationships of any sort, especially with Humans. It just wasn't meant to happen, or end happily. One can not put their all into any sort of relation, if they must always put they're country first.

Jefferson had had an idea on how to fix the country, and like any idea of his, he had strongly believed in it. And so had America, at first, despite his skepticism. But it had quickly turned into annoyance, fouled into dislike. He had pestered Jefferson time and time again to repeal it, to no effect until the end of his term.

America didn't want to remember him this way. He wanted to remember him as the studious and passionate person he was, always doing what he felt right for the country, much like Washington in that sense. He wanted to forget the last few weeks of his term, and replace the memories with those good ones.

But that was another downside England had mentioned of being a Nation. A Nation never forgets.

* * *

"They were attacking us," America spoke aloud more to himself than to Harrison, who stood to his left. "That's the only reason we're attacking them, because they started it. They're making plans, they're a threat to my people, to me."

"That's right," Harrison assured, clapping the young Nation on the shoulder, before loading his gun. The grin on his face, rather than being comforting, made America uneasy.

There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a hallow ache in his heart. The reason for it was right on the tip of his tongue, right on the edge of his thoughts. But it remained tantalizingly neither here nor there, not forgotten, nor clear enough to remember.

As the troops moved forward, honing in on Prophetstown, where Tecumseh and his troops laid in wait, America couldn't quite recall why the eminent danger of the Indians made him shake.

But when the first gun went off, the thoughts disappeared, replaced with nothing but a desire to protect his people, and a single shooting pain in his chest.

* * *

"England, stop it!" America shouted, shaking his head.

The Brit glanced up at him, expression more confused than anything else. His eyes, so green and bright, were watching America with perfected innocence. It struck a chord in him, somehow, because for the first time in years, he couldn't tell if the emotion was fake or not.

"France stopped his blockades, it's just you!" America could feel the tears stinging behind his eyes. "Why is it always you? Always, always ruining everything, and butting your head into my business?"

England was still looking at him blankly, as if he hadn't the slightest clue what he was talking about. But when America voiced the last part, the hurt was visible across his countenance.

"America, France lied to you." When America didn't respond, he went on. "He hasn't stopped, he just wants you on his side. He's thinks you'll be able to get through to me, because…" But his voice caught, and he stopped before the sentence was finished.

"I've had it," America whispered, voice soft but with a dangerous edge. "Again and again, you keep lying to me, and you always expect me to believe it. I'm not some stupid naïve kid you can keep tricking into believing any damn thing that comes out of your mouth! I'm an adult now, and I'm done with this."

"America, you—!"

"You keep inciting the Indians to fight us, you're screwing up my economy…" America trailed off, fists clenched.

"Your people just want to take Canada," England bit back, harshly. "They want to expand, and they're going after your own brother. How can't you see that…?"

"Lies!" America shouted back, before turning away. "I'd know if they were going after Canada. He's my brother, and I'd never let anything happen to him. I'm leaving."

Without a backward glance, he left, leaving England alone with his thoughts.

* * *

**Historical Notes: In the Election of 1808, James Madison won 122 out of 173 electoral votes, despite the unpopularity of the Embargo Act. He is described in my book as "a small, neat, and rather precise person". At around 5' 4'' and under 100 lbs, he was pretty small…but still taller than me '**

**The Non-Intercourse Act, which barred trade only with France and Britain as aforementioned, was difficult to enforce, because after the ships left port, there was no way in controlling were they went. This was soon replaced by Macon's Bill No. 2, which removed all trade restrictions, but barred British and French ships from American ports. Trade rose rapidly to pre-embargo levels. **

**Okay…this part I'm a little confused on…but a classmate of mine explained it to me, and I think I have this correct now. Let me know if I don't. Napoleon announces that the Berlin and Milan decrees—trade restrictions against England—would be revoked, with the understanding Britain will return the favor. Madison then, understanding this to be true, reapplied the non-intercourse policy to Britain, hoping to gain concessions.**

**Napoleon, having tricked America into closing its ports against British ships and goods, continued to seize American ships and goods. The British refused to modify their restrictive trade act—the Orders—until it could be proven that the Berlin and Milan decrees were actually repealed. American policy was hurting the British, and Madison, unable to admit he had been deceived, or change foreign policy, realized that unless Britain repealed the Orders, the United States would have to go to war with them. **

**By 1812, a depression had come about in England caused chiefly by increased effectiveness of Napoleon's Continental System, but blamed on the loss of American markets. Slowly, as request for repeal of the Orders increased, the government's position softened. On June 23****rd****, with the change of ministries the new foreign secretary, Lord Castlereagh, suspended the Orders. Five days earlier, however, the United States had declared war :/**

**Americans also had a strong desire to settle. They hoped to take Canada (and part of Florida) through war. but mostly the former, as the latter could be obtained easily in times of peace. They had sent troops into the area several times, unopposed. **

**Also, the Native Americans were restive, and many Americans believed the British from Canada were egging them on, which, while true in the past, was not true at the time. Tecumseh, a Shawnee chief, along with his brother, Tenskwatawa—known as "The Prophet"—began organizing forces. They urged Indians to give up white ways, and retain their own culture. By 1811, thousands of Native Americans had gathered in Prophetstown, in the Indiana Territory.**

**General William Henry Harrison, governor of the Indiana Territory, led offensive forces against them in November. This battle came to be known as Tippecanoe. **

**The Native Americans had expected The Prophets power to aid their cause, and when it failed, they were disheartened. Although it ended in more or less a draw, their organization was shattered. The frontier attacks continued, but in a much less organized manner. And the Americans continued to blame the British. **

**Happy New Year's, everyone! Mine was rather...amusing…it actually inspired a New Year's one-shot, which I hope to have up soon. Characters should be France, England, America, Canada, and Prussia.**

**Thanks for reading this far, and I hope you continue to do so. Best wishes for the year to come ^^**


	33. Chapter 33

"You are sure you want to go through with this?" Madison questioned once more. They were about to send the matter to Congress, for the final decision to be made. Both knew how the next step, if taken, would end.

"Yes," America confirmed, adamant. "Our national honor is at stake. If we don't, they'll think we're weak."

"We're ill prepared for war, though," Madison stated the facts. "Our navy is diminutive, especially in comparison to Britain's. There's a very good chance we will lose."

"It doesn't matter," the young Nation persisted. "If we ever want to be taken seriously, we have to do this."

Madison hesitated, before nodding his agreement, expression somber.

It was Congress's turn now.

* * *

"Who's winning now, England?" America smirked, triumphant. His people had been convinced their navy would be no match for that of the British, repudiated as it was, but here they were, holding their own.

"Just wait, you bugger!" England fumed, "Just wait until my forces get over there!"

And wait America did, until the ships arrived, trapping his frigates. But the smaller ships still buzzed around, harassing England's fleets.

And so the Atlantic naval fight ensued.

* * *

"What?" America questioned, hoping he had not heard what he thought he had.

"Canada is Britain's weak point," Madison reiterated. "The plan is to make a three-pronged attack, hoping to invade—"

"_Your people just want to take Canada. They want to expand, and they're going after your own brother. How can you not see that…?"_

"No!" America shouted, cutting him off. "He's my brother, they can't hurt him. I won't let them!"

_"I'd know if they were going after Canada. I'd never let that happen to him."_

"Are you siding with the enemy?" Madison inquired, disbelief clear in his voice. "In order to defeat Britain, we must—"

"But he didn't do anything!" America insisted, thoroughly alarmed. "He's my baby brother, he couldn't hurt—"

"He could, and he will," Madison cut back, voice suddenly sharp. "Don't forget that he is the enemy. He has been against us all along; it was he who kept inciting the Indians."

"But he's my brother!" America refused to give up so easily. "I…"

"_We'll have lots of fun together! We can be brothers."_

The young Nation shook his head vehemently. "I can't…I can't hurt him…"

"Then don't," Madison turned, heading for the door. "Stay here if you cannot handle it."

"But," America got to his feet, ready to follow. Ready to grab Madison and pull him back, if it would stop the attack. But it wouldn't, he realized. There was nothing he could do to protect his little brother.

As if sensing his despair, Madison paused in the doorway. "I'm sorry," he apologized, clear sympathy in his voice, before he left.

* * *

Months later, America realized he didn't have to protect his brother. He was holding his own, even driving the Americans back, driving the fight back onto American territory with the help of the Indians.

"So much for hurting him," Madison sighed. America sat across from him, conflicted. He didn't want to fight against Canada, but he couldn't endanger his people either. As a Nation, his people should come first. Now was the time to fight, no matter how much he disagreed with the notion.

"I'll go," he said after a pause, getting up to leave.

Madison watched him go with approving admiration.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Although many supported the War of 1812 ("War Hawks" – young pro-war leaders in Congress), many, like ship builders, were concerned. Britain's navy, largest in the world, was a formidable force. Britain, apart from the annoyance of impressments, was a minor threat, unlike Napoleon. Jefferson, who had initially been sympathetic to the French, called him "an unprincipled tyrant who is deluging the continent of Europe with blood". Jefferson had also made many cuts to America's navy, in the interests of cutting military expenditures in order to lower the debts. Nonetheless, war was declared.**

**For a while, the American frigates did well, faster, tougher, larger, and more powerfully armed than their British counterparts. They made many small victories against the British, although these had little significance on the war's outcome. As soon as the larger Royal Army could concentrate on them, the American frigates were immobilized. Their privateering merchant ships were more effective due to their numbers; they captured more than 1,300 British vessels during the war. The best were redesigned and revamped to perform even better.**

**Britain's weak point seemed to be Canada: there were only 2,257 British guards along the long border, with a 'feeble' militia. However, while American desire to expand into Canada was strong, few gave a bite to their bark. American leaders proved extremely disappointing. Madison had chosen many old officers from the Revolutionary War, most of which were far past their prime. They planned a three-pronged attack against Canada which failed dismally. **

**General William Hull panicked when he encountered hostile Indians led by Tecumseh, full out surrendering when the Canadians gave pursuit. In October, another force tried to invade Canada via Fort Niagara, but was crushed by superior numbers, as well as by a large number of New York militiamen refusing to fight outside their own state. Major General Henry Dearborn, leading the third branch, had to retreat after the troops refused to cross at the border. **

**Meanwhile, the British had captured Fort Michilimackinac in northern Michigan, and the Indians had taken Fort Dearborn (Chicago), killing 85 captives. Instead of sweeping triumphantly through Canada, Americans found themselves desperately fighting to keep Canadians out of Ohio.**

**I was going to put the Battle of Lake Erie (my book calls it the Battle of Put-in-Bay) in this chapter, but I decided I want to go into more detail on that, and I don't have much time to do that at the moment, so that will be in next chapter. I'm going back to school tomorrow too, so we'll see how updates are. **

**Thanks for all the reviews, everyone, and I hope you all had wonderful holidays, whatever you celebrate. I shall try my best to have another chapter up tomorrow.**

MinnieMouse97: **Thank you very much ^^ I'm glad you've enjoyed it. Everyone seems to be looking forward to the Civil War…I've got to make sure I hit the mark on that one. It should be interesting to write. Thanks for the review!**


	34. Chapter 34

"So…we defeat them so that Harrison can get to Detroit?" America reviewed the plan aloud.

Perry nodded an affirmation, smiling grimly, before he went off to get the rest of the men ready. Looking around the boat, America noticed that quite a few of the men had dark skin. Weird, he mused. Not that it mattered. People were people, and soldiers were soldiers.

England was sure to be here, lurking around where the main action was. That gave America the motivation he needed.

"There they are!" someone shouted. America glanced up, and sure enough, there were enemy ships on the horizon. Perry began issuing orders, getting the _Lawrence_ and surrounding ships underway.

As they moved closer, America could just make out blond hair. Several mops of blond scattered about the enemy ships, running to and fro. Was one of them England? Canada? Or just another solider? He couldn't make out any details from this distance.

The shouts continued, rising in volume, until suddenly, the gunfire began. At first he couldn't tell who had started it, but it soon became clear as the ship shook with the hits. Perry continued commanding, keeping his calm. They needed to get into position so they could counterattack.

America thought he saw Canada then, a vague outline, and he hesitated. Around him, guns were firing, people were dying. The ship was sustaining too much damage, far too much. They were in range now, firing back at the enemy, but it didn't seem to be making a difference. Shots kept coming, biting into the wood, breaking it.

Time seemed to blur. The next thing he knew, Perry was next to him calling above the gunfire. "I'm going to take a rowboat over to the _Niagara_. Once I'm away, this ship is going to surrender, and you'll stay here. They should stop attacking…"

"No, I'm coming with you," America argued, running with Perry as they made their way towards the rowboat. A few men were in it already, gesturing for them to hurry.

"It's too dangerous," Perry insisted, but when America climbed in ahead of him, he relented. There was no time for fooling around.

The whole way they were under fire, shots raining in upon them. It seemed ages before they reached the Niagara and climbed aboard. Immediately, Perry took control again, and the fighting continued.

Hours later, the resistance had ended. The remaining two ships had surrendered a few hours past noon, and now the wounded were being tended to. America was helping out the best he could. Carrying the injured, whatever he was told.

Amidst the chaotic end of the battle, the young Nation saw Perry, bent over something, writing. He could just barely see the words on the paper fragment, in the scrawled loopish handwriting:

…_We have met the enemy and they are ours…_

* * *

"Tecumseh is dead, as I am sure you know," Madison began as America entered the room, not much worse for the wear apart from a few bandages and minor scratches. "That removes the Indians from the equation."

"Yeah," America sighed, combing a hand through his hair. "I still haven't gotten to speak to Canada—just a few possible glimpses—but he sure seems serious about this."

"As should you be," Madison replied, a slight edge to his voice, despite the trace of sympathy. "I realize it must be hard fighting against your own sibling. I grew up with six of my own, so I can understand. He is your twin, as well, am I correct?"

"Yes." America placed the hand back in his lap, folding it with the other. "It's hard. You've never met him, but he's just so…gentle and quiet. He wouldn't hurt a fly. I just can't reconcile that with…all this."

Madison nodded understandingly. "But he is your twin. If you are capable of fighting, then why should he not be?"

"I suppose that's true," America agreed hesitantly. He still didn't want to fight his brother, regardless of whether or not he was capable of it. But he had to be the hero, had to keep his people safe. And if that came at the price of going up against his own twin, then it would be a necessary sacrifice.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Westerners began to rally somewhat in 1813. General Harrison led an army of Kentuckians in several inconclusive battles against British troops and Indians under Tecumseh, having difficultly recapturing Detroit because of a British squadron in control of Lake Erie. Madison assigned Captain Oliver Hazard Perry to the task of building a fleet to eliminate this force.**

**In September of 1813, in Put-in-Bay near the western end of the lake, Perry destroyed the British ships in a bloody battle in which 85 of the 103 men on Perry's flagship, the **_**Lawrence**_**, were killed. About ¼ of his 400 men were African Americans, leading him to remark that "'the color of a man's skin' was no more an indication of his worth than 'the cut and trimmings' of his coat". **

**With the Americans in control of Lake Erie, Detroit became untenable for the British, allowing Harrison to move in when they fell back. He defeated them at the Thames River. The battle, while fairly small, was significant, because one of the causalities was Tecumseh. Without him, the Native Americans lost hope.**

**American attempts to gain control of Lake Ontario and to invade Canada in the Niagara region still failed. Late in 1813, the British captured Fort Niagara and burned the town of Buffalo. Invasion of Canada was still as far from realization for the Americans as ever. **

**The British fleet on the Atlantic coast strengthened its blockade of American ports, extending its control to New England. The area had previously been spared to promote the anti-war sentiments of the local fishers, merchants, etc. Patrolling cruisers, all down the coast, captured small ships and raided port towns to collect provisions and ransom, by threatening to bombard them. **

**Several of you have commented on the burning of the White House coming up. That should be next chapter, whenever I get that up. Thank you for all the reviews!**


	35. Chapter 35

"The enemy is almost here," Madison announced, when they next met.

America appeared shocked at first, though Madison couldn't imagine why. Surely he must have seen this coming? The troops had been steadily approaching for weeks now, despite attempts to hold them back.

"We're sending out a defensive force to confront them," Madison continued. "We leave shortly. Are you going to come?"

"Definitely," America answered without a second thought. Preparations were made, and before he knew it, they were at Bladensburg, waiting for the fight to begin. He and Madison were a little ways back, at the president's urging, away from the congregated troops, and from where the start of the battle would take place. The rest of Washington's officials stood with them, watching from afar.

When the enemy finally arrived, America couldn't believe his eyes. At the head of their ranks was none other than Canada, his baby brother, a weapon in his hands, and fury in his eyes. America thought he would be reluctant to fight, that he would have to be forced to fight. It seemed that was not the case.

What in the world was happening? A few shots were fired, but not enough for a full-fledged battle. His troops were retreating, running…

"What the hell?" America found the words out of his mouth before he could correct the language in the presence of his president. But he supposed it didn't matter much, given the circumstances.

"Where's a messenger?" Madison was looking around with sudden alarm. "I need to warn Dolley…"

"I…no…" America ran after the troops, ran after his brother as they charged through the city, the American army dispersed. He needed to stop this. It was unbelievable, so like a nightmare and yet so terribly real. Canada couldn't actually be doing this. He was his _brother_.

But there the younger blond was, firing at any enemy in his way. America kept chasing after him, yet he seemed to remain as far away as ever, perhaps even increasingly so. His heart was thudding loudly, too rapidly. It was making him light-headed, unable to think straight or keep up a steady pace.

He was thoroughly out of breath by the time he reached the Mansion. The enemy was swarming the place, no doubt looking for valuables before…before what? The apprehension was overwhelming, but his head felt as if a tornado had been unleashed inside it. What was going on?

The surrounding buildings were aflame, the smoke wafting up in great columns, the fire spreading rapidly in the miserable summer heat. How had he not noticed this before? His vision was blurring, a biting pain puncturing his chest, right through his heart it seemed.

A passing thought of Madison's wife flitted through his mind. He hoped she was out of here, hoped for Madison's sake. Why hadn't any of the men followed him? What had they been thinking, running from an army half their size?

Pulse pounding in his temples, he stumbled forward, glancing into the face of every blond he came across. Often he was shoved away roughly—he must have looked a sight—but his mind was on one track. Not Canada, not England. Not until he got closer, near the end.

He would recognize his brother anywhere, vision going or not. Blond hair just a shade darker than his own, longer and slightly curled, that stray spiral sprouting out near his crown, eyes a slightly different hue. From a distance they would look quite similar.

His little brother, however, did not look himself. His usually neat hair was matted with sweat, eyes red from all the smoke, and a thoroughly heated expression upon his countenance. He had abandoned the civilian clothes of their youth—how long had it been since he last seen him, last thought of him even, before all this?—replaced with a red military uniform.

Red just like England's.

Why wasn't England here, forcing Canada to go through all this? If that were the case, America would understand. But this…Canada wouldn't…

The enemy's leader smiled wickedly, before dropping the torch. It was so dry, so hopelessly hot. The wood caught fire immediately. America felt his heart flare anew with fresh pain, as the flames rose. Burning with a searing acuteness that caused him to cry out momentarily.

Canada whipped around, as if recognizing the noise. He had been grinning, content with the chaos surrounding him, the damage he had caused to his brother's capital. But almost instantly his eyes narrowed, before opening wide with a new expression. Surprise, fear…guilt?

And America passed out.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Before 1814, the British were primarily concerned with Napoleon in Europe. But with Napoleon's failed invasion of Russia, and the conclusion of his conquest, Britain was once again free to send its troops elsewhere—over seas to Canada. They made plans and organized. **

**While the main force was assembling, 4,000 veterans under General Robert Ross sailed from Bermuda for the Chesapeake Bay region, eventually landing in Maryland. They planned to strike at Washington, which they hoped would break American morale. A group of gunboats that had been "protecting" the capital withdrew upstream. When followed, their commander gave orders to have them blown up to prevent them from falling into the hands of the British. **

**The British troops marched forward towards Washington, D. C. At Bladensburg, a few miles from the city, they met a force twice their size under General William H. Winder, a Baltimore lawyer who had already been captured and released by the British. While Madison and other officials watched, Winder's army fled after firing only a few shots (If anyone knows more of a reason behind this, I would love to know). **

**The British swarmed the capital, putting fire to most of the public buildings. Admiral Cockburn, before personally setting fire to the White House—called "The Executive Mansion" at the time, later called the White House, as it was painted white to cover the burns—took one of the president's hats, and a cushion from Dolley Madison's chair as souvenirs. Finding the table set, the army actually sat down to eat, Cockburn derisively toasting to "Jemmy's health, and other pleasantries too vulgar to repeat" according to one observer. **

**Their success peaked at this point, more or less, but we'll be getting to that, and hopefully heading towards the conclusion next chapter. Which I hope to have up tomorrow…or…later today. I hope this is living up to everyone's expectations (as I hope the Civil War will… ^^'). **


	36. Chapter 36

"America!"

Someone was shaking him frantically, calling his name repeatedly. He went to push them away, but felt oddly drugged. His limbs weren't moving properly, even if he had been sleeping for awhile.

Slowly, he eased his eyes open, to see Madison's concerned face. Dolley was at his side, a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Thank God…" Madison whispered as America stirred, Dolley holding her hand to her mouth in relief as she let out the breath she had been holding in. "We thought you were dead."

"I told you Nations don't die easily," America groaned, struggling to sit up. Madison helped him, as Dolley slipped a pillow beneath him to help him stay upright. "Where am I?"

"We're at the house of one of Dolley's friends," Madison began. "Mistress Henrietta Bentley? I doubt that rings a bell."

America shook his head. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was…

_Canada_. He'd burned down the Executive Mansion…willingly? The image was burned into the eye of America's mind, but he still couldn't believe what had transpired. "What…?"

"Washington has been burnt to the ground, more or less," Madison answered the half spoken question with a sigh, rubbing at his temples. "I can't imagine what those troops were thinking, running like that. We must look absolute fools. But to answer your inquiry, once we realized you were missing, we set out to look for you. We thought they had taken you hostage or something of the sort, but then we saw you…passed out cold on the ground. For all the world you looked…_dead_."

"Oh…" America muttered lamely, looking down at his hands. "I just…why did Canada…"

"It was only to be expected," Madison stated, matter-of-factly.

America looked over at him, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"We burnt down York before. An eye for an eye and all…"

"We _what_?" America's expression changed from confusion to horrified comprehension.

"Our troops looted and burned the area after they got in," Madison shook his head. "Much as the British…"

He trailed off, catching America's appalled countenance. "Did you not know of this…?"

"No, I…" America felt anger choking his words. "Of course I didn't! I never would've went along with that! I would've tried to stop them with everything I had! I would've—"

"I know…" Madison placated patiently. "Now that I think about it, you were, ah…_resisting_ the war effort at that time. I only wonder how you did not hear…"

"I haven't spoken to Canada..." America's regret was tangible in his voice. "I haven't talked to him in so long. It's all my fault…" He could feel the tears burning in his eyes, the steady ache in his heart becoming more pronounced.

"Oh, dear…" Dolley moved forward to place a hand on the young Nation's head. "Don't think that way, you're not to blame. Oh, sweetie, don't cry…"

But the tears had escaped and showed no sign of stopping. Dolley inched forward to wrap her arms around the boy, still stroking his hair comfortingly.

Madison stood by awkwardly, leaving America to his wife. After all, comforting children was her area of expertise.

* * *

**Historical Notes: When the British burned Washington during the War of 1812, Madison and Attorney General Richard Rush stayed with Caleb Bentley—the first postmaster of Brookeville, Maryland—and his wife Henrietta, a longtime friend of Madison's wife, Dolley. (I don't know if Dolley was actually with them or not, but she worked out so nicely in this scene, I just had to include her…)**

**The Battle of York took place on April 27th 1812, and was one of the first American victories on land during this war. The original American military plan included an attack on the port of Kingston, however, Major Henry Dearborn, the one in charge of the American invasion of Canada, felt that Kingston was too strong. Instead, he decided to attack York (now called Toronto), on the north western shore of the lake. York, despite being the capital of Upper Canada, was poorly defended. After the Americans won the battle, they soiled their victory by looting and burning York. **

**It was this affair that led to the retaliation in the form of the burning of Washington. Much thanks to **Kaiamara** for bringing this up :] History books are sometimes horribly biased, and my book left the entire event out, making it seem like Canada just attacked out of randomness :/ Way to make him seem like the bad guy when America really started it. However, I couldn't believe that America would be okay with that, so in my mind he was left out of the loop. I hope it turned out all right ^^' **


	37. Chapter 37

"I'm not going to let them win this time," America promised, back to his usual self.

General Samuel Smith smiled grimly, before going off to give out orders. The enemy was in sight, preparations were necessary.

_O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,_  
_What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming?_

"Ross is down!" someone shouted over the battle. The enemy troops were retreating, rerouting. Where were they going?

They were heading upriver, up the Patapsco. Up towards Fort Henry.

_Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,_  
_O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming?_

"What do you mean we can't get in there?" America asked, obviously upset. "My people are in there! I need to help them!"

"We've done our part," Smith assured, placing a hand on the young Nation's shoulder, as much in restraint as in comfort.

"But I can't just wait here!" America frowned, clearly displeased with the concept.

"You certainly can," Smith insisted, refusing to change his stance. "We can't have you running off into every single battle. It's dangerous."

"…_you could have gotten seriously hurt…you need to have more responsibility than that…"_

"Everyone's really getting into this," America smiled, despite himself. He wasn't happy his people would be fighting—and quite possibly dying—but seeing his people united for a common cause always boosted his spirits.

"Yes," General Alexander Macomb agreed, scanning a proud eye over the tight defense he'd set up. "We're more than ready for them, I'd say."

_And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,_  
_Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there._

"They did it!" America exclaimed happily to Madison when he next saw him. "We're winning aren't we? Winning against England…and…"

"Don't count your chickens too quickly," Madison advised, although he was unable to keep the amused smile, triggered by the young Nation's enthusiasm, off his face. "It's not over yet. We still have to negotiate peace and…"

Caught up in the moment, America hugged Madison tightly in one swift movement, before sticking his tongue out. "Be happy about the small things for once. We've got this."

"I doubt the British will agree to all our terms," Madison continued, undeterred, straightening his clothing. "We have got to be serious about this. Victory is hardly guaranteed at this point."

"I know," America sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'm just enjoying the fact we're driving out England. Is there something wrong with that?"

"No, I just…"

"_Madison!_" America reprimanded jokingly. "Just leave it. Seriously. You'll have plenty of time to "seriously consider" it later."

At the start of Madison's term, America never would have considered acting so informally with the uptight man. But now, Madison simply let a slight smile slip onto his lips, shaking his head at the young Nation. "I suppose, for now…there is no harm."

_O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave_  
_O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?_

* * *

**Historical Notes: After the burning of D.C., the British tried to take Baltimore and were stopped by a tight line of defenses under General Samuel Smith, a militia officer. General Ross, one of the British officers, fell during this attack. The British fleet then moved up the Patapsco River to attack Fort McHenry. They shot cannons at the fort, raining 1800 shells upon it in a 25-hour bombardment from September 13th to 14th, 1814. **

**It was during this attack that Francis Scott key wrote the lyrics to the "Star-Spangled Banner" later to become America's national anthem. He was temporarily detained on a British ship, having attempted to free an American doctor—who had been taken into custody in Washington—before the attack started. It came to him readily, as he watched the battle from a distance. The first verse serves as the line breaks, in this chapter. I was thinking of including the whole thing, but I thought it might be a little too wordy. **

**Unable to crack the defenses at Baltimore, the British withdrew to their ships briefly, before sailing back to Jamaica to join up with the forces gathering preparing there. **

**The attack on Washington shocked many Americans into action. Thousands came forward to enlist in the army, with new spirit and determination from the northern front, where the war had previously been unpopular do to the seeming "absurdity" of taking on the British by themselves. General Sir George Prevost, leader of the main British invasion force, reached a strong defense line under General Alexander Macomb: 1000 Redcoats to 3300 Americans. **

**Prevost brought up his supporting ships and gunboats, and went against an American fleet of similar size under Captain Thomas Macdonough. On September 11, in a brutal battle at close range, Macdonough defeated the British ships and drove off the gunboats. With the Americans now a bigger threat, Prevost returned to Canada.**

**Next chapter should get into The Treaty of Ghent and The Battle of New Orleans, if all goes to plan. I think I mentioned this before, but I plan to keep giving gift fics every 100 reviews. So, as we are approaching 200, I am just putting that out there. The 200th reviewer gets a Hetalia gift fic of their choice :] **

Anon**: I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you're getting at ^^' I'm sorry. But thank you for the review at any rate!**


	38. Chapter 38

"England," America greeted, sitting down across from the older Nation.

"America," England returned cordially. "It's about time you've come to see me in regards to those concessions."

"We've been through this." America tried to keep himself under check—it was too early into negotiations to get worked up. "We aren't giving you an inch. Neither my people nor myself will stand for that."

"Don't be absurd," England began, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "You started this whole bloody affair. It's your place to end it."

"If you hadn't been so difficult in the first place—"

"I was nothing of the sort!" England countered, agitation increasing by the second. "Besides, we've got this all sorted out…our plan…"

"You mean the one that _failed_?" America bit back, irritation finally getting the better of him. "_We've_ got this. It's over now."

"It's _not_ over," England contradicted, a strange note in his voice. He didn't continue, merely stared off into space, expression indecipherable.

"England…" America inched forward so that he could place a hand on the Brit's knee. It was angrily slapped away.

"What happened?" England turned his head away. His hands were shaking. "What the bloody hell happened? Can you tell me? You used to be such a good little boy…and now…"

"I grew up," America replied sharply, grabbing England's arm. "Why can't you just accept that? I think _that's_ the problem here! You've got to—"

America pushed back on England's shoulder, forcing him to look at him. What he saw made his heart skip a beat. "England…"

Furiously, the other scrubbed at his streaming eyes. "Bloody stupid tears," he sobbed, still trying to stem them. "This is so _stupid_. There's no time for this…Matthew's still out there and…"

At the sound of his brother's human name, America frowned. "That's true, isn't it? But this whole situation is never going to end unless you and I work this out. Matt…he's my brother. We're twins, and nothing can get between us. Not even this stupid war…We'll work it out. I have faith in that.

"You, on the other hand…" He paused watching the tears still seeping out of those green eyes, despite the Brit's attempts to prevent them. Such green eyes.

"I just want this to stop," England managed to get out, after a moment. A sniff. "As much as it may seem otherwise…I don't _want_ to fight with you. It's not like with France. I…I care about you. And I don't want this to keep happening. The Revolutionary War was bad enough…"

"England…" America felt the word leave his mouth, akin to a sigh. He plopped down on the couch beside the older Nation and brought him into a hug. When had England gotten so small? America still remembered when the older nation could sweep him into his arms and carry him around for hours on end. But now… "I used to look up to you. Like an older brother, a father…I don't know. But I care about you, too. If you want this to stop, it can stop. _We_ can stop this."

"I…" the tears were abating gradually, but England just sat there, spent, whether physically or emotionally, America couldn't tell. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," America replied. A short silence passed over them, empty and calm. America couldn't remember the last time they had felt so at ease in the company of each other.

There was still fighting to be done before this was all finished. The peace was coming, though, and the major point of the conflict was over, two of the countries involved at peace.

* * *

"We're winning." Those were the only words to come out of Jackson's mouth as he continued giving orders, commanding his troops.

"You don't understand!" America insisted, following after him. "It's over it's…"

The gunfire surrounding them was deafening. It must have been drowning out America's words, as Jackson was making no reaction. He had to find Canada. He and England must be here somewhere. They would help him stop the fighting.

An hour of searching later, and still he had not found either of them. He was just about to give up and do what he could on his own, when he saw Canada, sitting down several feet off, in the shadows of a run down building. His foot seemed to be badly injured; tears were at the corner of his eyes. When he saw America coming, he froze, watching with wide eyes as America came closer. He flinched, as if expecting a blow, but America only plopped down next to him and pulled him into his arms.

"I'm so sorry!" Canada cried, burying his face into America's shoulder. "I'm done fighting…I—"

"Shush," America ran a hand over his younger brother's back comfortingly, the other imbedding itself in his hair. "I should be the one apologizing. I'm such an idiot…and I was the one who started this whole mess."

"You aren't mad…?" Canada asked, surprise more than evident in his tone. He'd obviously been beating himself up over this whole affair.

"I'm sure my people are, but…" America squeezed him closer. "I could never hate my baby brother. England and I made a treaty. We've just got to see this through to the end, and then…" He trailed off, as his own tears began flowing.

And together they cried, isolated from the main fight and hidden from the flying ammunition, as if they were in a little world all their own under the protective ledge. Soon the battle would be over, and everything would go back to normal. At least, that was what America hoped for, though, deep down he knew the truth. Conflicts never disappear completely.

* * *

**Historical Facts: Earlier in 1814, both sides agreed to discuss terms. Commissioners were appointed and negotiations began during the summer at Ghent, Belgium. The talks were drawn out and frustrating. The British were in no hurry to sign a treaty, as they had faith their three-pronged treaty would win them the war. They first demanded that the United States abandon practically all the Northwest Territory to the Native Americans, and cede other points along the northern border to Canada. "I would continue this war forever rather than surrender an acre…" John Adams said, summing up public opinion. The American delegation refused to give up any land. **

**Eventually, the British realized that pushing their point would only incite the Americans to keep fighting. The news of defeat at Plattsburgh changed their stand. In the end they settled for '**_**status quo ante bellum'**_**, Latin literally meaning 'the state in which things were before the war'. With the tensions caused by the French Revolution out of the way, all other conflicts seemed to vanish. On Christmas Eve, 1814, the Treaty of Ghent was signed. But the fighting still continued. **

**General Andrew Jackson was a tough and determined man. He cared for his troops, but was strict, commanding their respect through discipline based on fear. He attacked the British while they waited for supplies, falling back 5 miles below New Orleans, where he dug in. General Sir Edward Pakenham, leader of the British troops, probed at his defense for two weeks. By night Jackson would send out patrols of silent Tennesseans to stalk and pick off British sentries, a process they called "going hunting". **

**Battle of New Orleans: On January 8th, 1815, Pakenham ordered a full front assault. The American position was formidable, but the British had seasoned troops which had fought against Napoleon. They expected the Americans to run once the battle began, but they were wrong. The Americans held their position. They formed three ranks behind the parapet, the first firing, then stepping down to load, the second and third doing the same, by which point the first row would be ready to shoot again, and so on. General Pakenham was killed in the fighting after being injured twice. By the time the British troops retreated, they had suffered almost 2,100 causalities in addition to 300 almost-deaths. The Americans lost only 13 men, with a mere 58 wounded. **

**The Federalists, centered in the New England area, were thoroughly discredited by the war. From the beginning they had marked it a foolish mistake, going up against the sizeable British navy. They declared it impossible for the Americans to win against the British, going so far as to bring together a meeting called the Hartford Convention, held in December 1814 and January 1815, in order to protest the war and revise the Constitution. They encouraged New England administrations not to provide militias or aid, and advised individuals and banks against lending money to the effort. New England trade with Canada and Britain continued to flourish as long as this attitude was upheld. **

**This negative attitude towards the war brought about fear of New England secession, increased by the Hartford Convention. Luckily, moderate Federalists lead the Convention, and the only proposed changes merely outlined the concepts of the Kentucky and Virginia resolutions. They wanted to 1)repeal the Three-Fifth's Compromise, 2)require a new two-thirds vote of Congress for the admission of new states and for declaring war, 3)reduce Congress's power to restrict trade via measures such as the embargo, 4)limit presidents to a single term, and 5)make it illegal for naturalized citizens to hold office. However, none of these measures were passed. The content, while not treasonous, was kept secret among those attending the Convention. **

**As the War took a favorable turn for the Americans and victory appeared on the horizon, the Federalists, who had been thoroughly sure of defeat by the British, lost their validity.**

**The ability of the Americans throughout the war, despite internal issues, convinced Europeans they were capable of holding their own and remaining united as a country. They suffered few causalities and little economic loss throughout the war, in part from shipping interests. The Native Americans had been the main losers, suffering many causalities and secessions of land to the Americans. **

**The Federalist Party ended along with the war. Serious foreign threats were no longer an issue and a period of peace between America and Britain called the Anglo-American Rapprochement came about. There was no sudden blossoming of friendship, but the War of 1812 was the last major war between them. **


	39. Chapter 39

"We could just demilitarize the border…" America suggested, only to earn a shocked expression from England. Canada merely looked surprised.

"We can't do that!" England responded immediately, alarmed. "We—"

"I think it would be a good idea," Canada cut in, for once making himself heard. He turned to England pleadingly. "It would save us both money, and I trust America."

"Canada…" England let the name fall from his lips, at a loss for a retort, unable to counter the other's unwavering faith and logic. "I…I suppose that would make sense."

"We should only need a few cautionary armaments each," Canada continued on eagerly, obviously wanting to make sure matters worked out.

"Sounds like a deal," America smiled, clapping his younger brother on the back. He made to bring England in via his other arm, but the older Nation dodged away. "What's wrong, Iggy?"

"_Iggy!_" England grit out, arms crossed over his chest. "I respect you as your own nation, but that doesn't change the fact you can be an insolent brat. And I told you not to call me that…!"

America merely shrugged. "So are you in?"

"…" Wordlessly, he relented, letting America pull him in to join the group hug. America couldn't remember the last time he had been so at peace.

* * *

"You aren't going along?" Monroe questioned, obviously surprised, as he looked up from his paper work to notice the should-be-absent Nation, sitting at his usual spot.

"I'm…not really feeling up to it," America explained, massaging his temples for effect. In truth, he just didn't want to risk that sick feeling in his gut that had occurred the last time he attended such a battle. Still the reason behind the sensation had not broken free of his blurred memories.

"Suit yourself," Monroe shrugged, continuing to go about his work.

Later that week, America felt sick to his stomach, and had to excuse himself to spend the day home, in bed. The familiar pain was back in his chest too, the exact same sensation as had occurred during the Battle of Fallen Timbers. But why? He wasn't anywhere near the fighting, if it were even taking place at all.

It didn't make any sense.

* * *

"You're kidding?" Spain voiced breathlessly, obviously caught of guard by the high demands.

"No," America responded, impassive. "Quincy is driving a hard bargain."

"But we're giving you Florida," Spain countered, astonished.

"And my people want more," America persisted, undeterred. "Besides, you really wouldn't be able to hold it anyway, if we tried to take it by force."

"_Es cierto, desgraciadamente_," Spain sighed wistfully. "We've definitely passed our peak."

Seeing the dismayed expression on his fellow Nation's face, America tried to ease up a little. "It really is up to our bosses in the end. I'm sure they'll make a compromise of some sort."

"Hopefully," Spain seized on the opportunity, that cheerful demeanor once again blasting full force.

America wondered if the seemingly perpetual happiness were an act or not. He had seen the dark side of the Spaniard, that was for sure, but he seemed so eager to forget all that, and put up a happy façade. But all Nations had their quirks.

* * *

"Russia, what are you doing?" America questioned, watching the older Nation from a cautious distance.

"Oh, America-kun~!" Russia smiled, turning around and straightening to his full height. "I was just looking around. It's sort of nice over here…even if it's still cold."

"…" America watched as Russia danced across the snow briefly, trying to think of an intelligent response. "You're not usually over here…you're not bothering Canada, are you?"

"So suspicious!" Russia's grin faltered. "I've been coming here for a while now, and I haven't done anything to your little brother. But he's cute, da? I wonder what would happen if—"

"Can you leave?" America interrupted, not wanting to hear the end of that sentence. His encounters with the foreign Nation had been brief and few, but already he was getting bad vibes.

"But, England and France-kun are over here all the time!" Russia insisted. "And Spain-kun, too!"

"Well, I'm sick of all of you butting in over here," America muttered, unnerved by Russia's lack of normal response. "Would you mind passing it on?"

At the impromptu dismissal, the Russian looked just the least bit miffed. But he shrugged, the perturbing smile popping back up. "Of course, America-kun! I'll see you later then, da~?"

And with that, he left, leaving America alone and nonplussed.

* * *

**Historical Notes: After the war, the English and Americans solved several disputes peacefully, such as Canada's border, and removing the discriminating duties from their trading. The Rush-Bagot Agreement of 1817 was an agreement between the British and Americans to partially demilitarize the Great Lakes for cost purposes. Each side would only be allowed 1-2 ships on each lake. This eventually led to demilitarizing the whole border, a remarkable feat.**

**James Monroe, elected president in 1816, had Jackson clear out raiding Seminole Indians from American soil and follow them across Florida's border if necessary. Jackson did so, capturing a few Spanish forts, and leaving without any trouble. This proved laxity of Spanish control. Western Florida had already passed into American hands by 1813, and many frontiersmen in Georgia were eager to see the rest of the area gained. **

**The Transcontinental Treaty signed in 1819, but ot ratified until 1821, secured Florida for America, and more. Luis de Onís, the Spanish minister, was reluctant to cede so much, offering a line in the middle of what is now Louisiana. However, secretary of state, John Quincy Adams was determined, suggesting a boundary running through present-day Texas. Onís was shocked, but Quincy's determination eventually won out. The final border ran along the Sabine, Red and Arkansas Rivers to the Continental Divide and the 42****nd**** parallel to the pacific. The large area beyond the Rockies that had formerly belonged to Spain was now in their control.**

**Russians had claims in the northwest Americas since 1741, mainly for fishing purposes. In 1821, when the czar forbade foreign ships to enter above the 51****st**** parallel, the Americans were alarmed. In 1824, not intimidated, but having no desire to colonize the Americas, Russia signed a treaty abandoning all claims south of present day Alaska, and removing trade restrictions. America's little statement at the end was referencing the Monroe Doctrine, which I will detail more next chapter.**

**This chapter was really hard in getting started, thus it's lateness. (coughit') Really…I just procrastinate horribly…**

**Russia's appearance, while being awesome, has me a little miffed. His usage of "-kun" in the anime is part of his character to me, but it sounds odd to add it on in English, as there's no real counterpart, and I can't even begin to guess at the beginnings of a Russian counterpart.**

**Anyway, hope you all like it ^^ **

**Translations**

_**Es cierto, desgraciadamente**_** – It's true, unfortunately. **


	40. Chapter 40

"Isn't it difficult, being a Nation?" Monroe questioned when the two of them were sitting alone in his office on a quieter day.

"What do you mean?" America looked up, shifting to face his president.

"Well, you have to live through years upon years of difficulty, always sympathizing with everyone, even if it conflicts," Monroe continued to muse aloud. "Surely it must be tiring, if nothing else."

"I suppose," America agreed, leaning back on his palms, so that his back rested against the sill. The sun was bright and warm, passing through the glass easily to heat himself. "But we get to experience all the good things too, and we can have our own opinions."

"Really...?" Monroe glanced up, pleasantly interested.

"Yeah, like this war we just fought," his throat stuck a little with the mention, but he pushed passed it. "I didn't want to fight Canada, but it was something that needed to be done. And this argument over Missouri just now…I myself am not too fond of slavery, but slavery was still propelled, despite Tallmadge's attempts."

"But there are a lot of people that agreed with both those opinions, even if they weren't majorities," he set down his pen, turning in his chair to face his Nation. "Can you have an opinion none of your people hold…or even just a very small minority?"

Was that true? Did he really have such little freedom, that he couldn't have an opinion at least somewhat popular with his people? No, that couldn't be. He might sympathize with his people, but he was still himself, wasn't he? His personal life and choices…those were up to him, right? He didn't have to agree…

At America's distressed expression, Monroe immediately felt a surge of guilt. "I'm sorry for asking…I didn't mean to upset you. We can talk about something else if you want, I…"

"I'm all right," America plastered a smile up on his face, letting the perturbing thoughts slip out of his mind.

What did it really matter, anyway? His people were rational; the majority of them would never do anything so insane as to harm him. He was worrying unnecessarily.

* * *

"We'll allow you to make a joint statement with us," England announced, when he saw his former charge next.

"Huh?" America responded intelligently.

"We plan to keep out that git, France, but we're not going to annex the area or anything, just leave it as is," England clarified, a slight flush coloring his cheeks as he continued. "And I'd like you to join us. In our stand, I mean…I mean, I'll let you. It's for my own good."

America hesitated, considering the proposal. He was honored that England was actually asking his help in something, asking for his opinion, but on the flipside, was it really the best thing to do?

"What about the new little countries?" America questioned, concerned. He liked that they had broken away from Spain and set up their own governments, much as he had broken away from England. If at all possible he wanted to help his fellow young Nations, a feat which if not already impossible due to his people's stand on matters, would be made even more so by accepting the Brit's proposal.

"They're just little upstarts, not even real countries," England scoffed, crossing his arms. "Don't worry about them."

"You said the same about me," America brought up, a sharpness in his tone that caught England off guard. "Everyone said the same about me. I'd be a hypocrite to do the same."

The young Nation had long ago had enough of following England blindly. That was all in the past, a mistake--he assured himself--that he would never make again.

"I thank you for the offer," he continued more kindly this time, not wanting to hurt England, just convince him. "But I'm going to have to decline."

The smaller Nation looked at him with clear shock, obviously having expected him to agree to the proposal.

"You git," he accused, once he finally regained his voice. But through the annoyance, America could see the wry smile, imagine the aggravated pride his once caretaker must be feeling.

And so, smiling himself, he walked away before matters could complicate into another mess.

* * *

"_The American continents, by the free and independent condition which they have assumed and maintain, are henceforth not to be considered as subjects for future colonization by any European powers." _

_~John Quincy Adams_

_

* * *

_

"I want everyone to leave me alone," America announced, to the Nations, as his boss was announcing it to the Humans. "I'm independent now, I'm my own country. My brother and I have been through enough because of you all, and I'm not going to stand for this any longer. You have plenty to do in Europe, so just stay there and mind your own business."

He expected a big uproar, expected shouts of disagreement and anger, possibly even congratulations. But none of it came.

"Awww, _Amérique_ has gotten so protective of _mon petit Matthieu_," France cooed.

Spain merely looked on with that happily oblivious smile, chatting to a young man at his side with an odd patch of curly hair. Russia was much in the same boat, positively beaming at the potted sunflower to his right.

Prussia, Austria, and the rest continued on as if he had not said anything.

Sighing to himself, America turned to leave. Perhaps they didn't think much of him now, still such a young nation, but they would in time, he'd make sure of that.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Austria, Prussia, Russia, and France planned to send in a French army to win back Spain's possessions in Latin America, as Spain was too weak to do so.**

**In 1823, the British, not recognizing the new Latin American republics, offered to make a joint statement with the US opposing any French intervention, on the terms that they themselves would never annex any parts of Spain's old empire.**

**Feeling this would restrict them in the years to come, America made its own statement, saying that America was no longer a land for European colonization and that any European interference with the new Latin American republics would be viewed as a threat to the US. This announcement became known as the Monroe Doctrine. '**

**Although few Europeans took this statement seriously, it further secured America's independence, and successfully outlined American foreign policy for the years to come. **

**The Era of Good Feelings was a period of peace under James Monroe. Although not particularly intelligent or forceful, he had a good heart and disposition. Party divisions more or less vanished with the Federalist Party, but new sectional issues resulting from the War of 1812 began to emerge. **

**In 1816, Madison signed to create a new National Bank like Hamilton's, as well as a new tax to encourage manufacturing. Protective tariffs were also placed on foreign goods, such a as British textiles, which had been dumped into America at bargain prices in a haste to regain lost markets. Southerners were against these taxes, because they increased prices and limited their foreign markets. **

**Many didn't like the Bank, because they felt there was too much foreign investment in it. Land prices and minimum unit size dropped, the new farmers causing trouble as production in Europe restarted. In 1808, the slave trade was outlawed, although slavery would still exist for awhile. There were 11 slave states and 11 free states.**

**In 1817, Missouri petitioned for statehood. Since a large number of them were slaveholders, the area would undoubtedly become a slave state, throwing off the balance. In 1819, Congressman James Tallmadge of New York introduced an amendment prohibiting "the further introduction of slavery" and requiring all slaves born in Missouri after the territory became a state to be freed at age 25. This was rejected by the Senate after passing the House. **

**This was eventually resolved by the Missouri Compromise. Missouri would be introduced as a slave state, Maine as a free state. In addition the introduction of slavery past the 36' 30° latitude line, an extension westward of Missouri's southern border. **

**I fully intended to have this chapter up last Friday ^^ I apologize for it taking so long. Much thanks to all of you for the reviews!**


	41. Chapter 41

"Nothing I do is working," Adams sighed, leaning back in his chair.

_You're right_, was America's first reaction. But he couldn't say that. He knew Adams was trying his best, but he just wasn't the political speaker his father was. It wasn't his fault, he just…

"That's not true," he said instead, getting to his feet. "Everyone just…"

"They think I have some deal going with Clay," Adams smiled bitterly at the absurdity.

"And you don't, do you?" America prompted, to hear the denial with his own ears, just to be sure.

"Of course not," Adams shifted position. "I would never do such a dishonorable thing."

"Of course not," the young Nation repeated, sighing to himself, as Adams went back to his work.

He felt sympathy for Adams, he really did, but he couldn't help the under-lying annoyance worming its way into the sentiment. The annoyance of his people, he thought. But no…his people couldn't control his feelings, could they?

"And all these tax issues," Adams squinted down at the papers with tired eyes. "At least they finally seem to be seeing an end, thankfully."

"Definitely," America agreed, returning to his seat once Adams had lapsed into silence once again.

"_This new tax on paper…It just…seems a bit much to me."_

He jerked sharply at the sudden remembrance, breath catching in his throat. Luckily, Adams hadn't noticed: he didn't need anymore on his plate right now.

Heart thudding against his chest, he tried to relax. It was nothing. Nothing to worry about.

* * *

"Dead?" America leapt to his feet, alarmed. "Jefferson can't be dead! I never got to say goodbye, I never…"

"I'm sorry," Adams clapped his Nation on the shoulder, obvious sympathy shining in his eyes. "You knew him well, did you not? This must come as a shock…"

"Yeah." Gratefully, he sunk into the chair Adams led him over to. He couldn't believe this. It seemed only years ago Jefferson had stood beside him in the fight for independence. Jefferson had only been a decade or so his senior, such a small time difference for a Nation.

But to think he was dead….the information refused to sink in. It was like losing Washington all over again, but worse in a way. _Different._ Washington had been like a father to him, but Jefferson had been like a brother. One was supposed to lose their parent…but a brother…

And he'd never gotten the chance to formally apologize for the last few months they shared in office together. They'd conversed pleasantly, but there had always been that jaded air to their encounters

But Adams had also died, the same day. Adams…_Adams!_ "Your father, he…" America slurred out as the connection was finally made in his shock-slowed mind. "Oh my god…I'm so sorry! I didn't even think…"

"It's all right," Wearily, Adams sighed, plopping onto the couch beside the young Nation. "He was old. Jefferson was old. They lived full lives, and it was time for them to depart from this world."

When he saw the tears building in the corners of America's eyes, he continued, tapping into one of his rare moments of eloquence. "They were able to get over their differences, and become good friends in their later years. And they left together, so they won't be alone, wherever one ends up when they die.

"They wouldn't want you to be upset, but to remember them for what they contributed to our beautiful country, and to keep it going. They put their lives into helping you stand on your own feet, and they'd want you to make the most of, and get stronger, for their sake. They'd…"

The blond sniffed, scrubbing at his eyes to keep the tears at bay. He wasn't going to cry, not again. It had been happening much too often lately…and it needed to stop.

Men didn't act like such sissies, they didn't cry. _Heroes_ didn't cry.

But the tears came anyway.

* * *

**Historical Notes: In the absence of political parties, the Election of 1824 became rather personal. The candidates were Andrew Jackson, William H. Crawford, John Quincy Adams (John Adam's son), Henry Clay, and John C. Calhoun. Still young with plenty of time to try another election, Calhoun decided to drop down to the vice-presidency, which he easily won.**

**No majority was decided by the Electoral College, so the case went to the House of Representatives, as the Constitution dictated, each state delegation having one vote. Clay used his great influence there, swinging the balance to elect Adams. Adams was the only other available contestant sans Clay, as Jackson was Clay's western rival, and Crawford was suffering from paralytic strokes. **

**John Quincy Adams was fairly inept as a politician, arguing points badly and not speaking very elegantly. He refused to replace capable officials with those of his own preference, but one of the few appointments he did make was Clay as secretary of state, starting rumors that he was involved in a corrupt deal. Many accused him of Federalist and royalist tendencies, because of his internal improvement plans. Requested an observatory, calling it a "light-house of the skies" one of his few poetic moments. He was also under a lot of pressure growing up. I mean not terribly much, but his dad was the former president. Made him into a bit of an unhappy perfectionist :/**

**The Tariff of Abominations (1828) increased tariffs on raw wool, hemp, flax, fur, and liquor. The Westerners supported it. New Englanders opposed this, as it would make the raw materials necessary for manufacturing more expensive. In an attempt of reverse psychology, the Southerners, also against the tariffs, decided to go against New England proposals to lower the suggested increase, hoping they would reject the tariff completely. But the New Englanders had bargained so much by this point, that they were ready to accept anything.**

**However, the patriotism and uniqueness of America was uniting. Jefferson (age 83) and Adams (age 90) died on the same day, July 4****th****, the 50****th**** anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. They had gotten a long later in life, forgiving each other for their deviations in opinion. Their coincidental deaths were taken as a good omen.**

**The sentimental-ness…I apologize for so much of it, as well as any confusion caused by the reference to Quincy as Adams ^^' All the reviews were wonderful. All of you are wonderful!**


	42. Chapter 42

"You sure are popular!" America laughed, jokingly, as he leant back against the wall, heart still racing.

Jackson looked quite a bit worse for the wear, breathing-heavy as he collapsed into the desk chair. "So it would seem. It's a good thing we got out of there."

"Yeah," America agreed, stretching his neck back. "Having you crushed on your first day in office wouldn't be a very good start."

Jackson didn't laugh, only continued to try and catch his breath.

"That was one tough election," America commented in an attempt to break the stiff silence.

"It was," Jackson agreed, jaw tightening as he continued. "There was no need to drag Rachel into it. It didn't do her health any good. Not at all."

"I know," the young Nation responded sympathetically, regretting having brought the topic up.

"I plan to change things," Jackson seemed to be talking more to himself than to the personified Nation. "Adams' followers are corrupt, behaving so dishonorable. It's common men that should be in power, those who know what it's like to be living here, and how to make the best improvements."

"Yeah." Smiling, the blond nodded in agreement. He liked the sound of that.

* * *

"You're making a lot of changes," America stated warily. He couldn't remember any of his other presidents acting this way. It was slightly unnerving.

"It's their fault," was all Jackson said in response. He didn't clarify, but America knew what he meant. Their fault that Rachel had become very ill shortly after the election. Their fault she had died scarcely months after. Their fault the economy was messed up, their fault the country was corrupt…

America didn't agree with any of these takes, really, not completely, but he could sympathize. He could always sympathize with his people, especially the leaders.

"I'm going to kill it," Jackson announced with gritted teeth.

It wasn't until months later America found out what he meant.

* * *

"You can't kill it!" America reasoned, facing off to Jackson. The man was a few inches taller, his thinness only exaggerating the effect. But the young Nation was hardly intimidated. He'd been through much worse.

"It's destroying out country, corrupting our economy—"

"It's not!" America insisted, sincerity shining in his eyes. "Biddle explained it to me, what he's doing, and I didn't quite understand all the details but…"

"That's my point!" Jackson asserted with conviction. "Officials who make decisions on their own, intelligent ones like Biddle that don't bother to explain their actions…these are the types of people who the government does not need. Honest farmers would never go about business in such roundabout ways."

"Still," America was hard-pressed trying to think of an argument to counter that logic. "Madison likes the bank…he…he…"

But Jackson only ignored him, returning to the forms on his desk, the papers that would veto the renewal of the bank, and thus destroy it.

"The Bank is trying to kill me," he grit out, again, more to himself than to America, a final word. "_But I will kill it!_"

* * *

**Historical Notes: On Jackson's first day in office, eager supporters followed him into the White House, dirtying the place and causing chaos. Jackson was rescued by his friends and spent his first night in office at the Gatsby's Hotel. **

**Jackson placed emphasis, and even praise, on the common man. Offices became mostly elective, land qualification for voting was dropped in new states, changes adapted in the old. He felt he had been cheated out of the presidency in 1824 by Clay's influence of the voters.**

**During the Election of 1828, both Adams and Jefferson were slandered. They denounced Jackson as a "bloodthirsty military, tyrant, a drunkard, and a gambler, also accusing him of having his wife, Rachel, live with him before she divorced he other husband. Some suggested that while foreign minister to Russia, Adams had offered an American virgin to the czar as an incentive. Others accused Jackson of having his wife live with him before she divorced her other husband. **

**Rachel Jackson died shortly after Jackson's election and her devoted husband was convinced that the indignities heaped on her by Adams supporters had increased her decline in health. He sought for punishment of the "vile wretches" who had attacked him so viciously during the campaign.**

**Jackson represented the common man, despite being well-off. We was not very well educated, prone to occasional fits of anger, but he never rejected the poor and believed in equality, both an average and ideal American. **

**He was also a strong believer in the spoils system, replacing almost all of the officials, many of which were drunk or senile, but also many that were competent. He justified this with his belief that officials grew numb to public opinion, and so needed to be rotated regularly. The replacements weren't all "common men" many of equal status to those they had replaced. He felt officials required little training. **

**Nicholas Biddle, a fairly arrogant new president of the Bank in 1823, he tried to limit the lending of the state banks in order to prevent depression (more money=more farmers=over-production) by stopping the conversion of all bank notes that came into the Bank into coins. Few understood this practice, and those that did didn't agree with it. **

**A re-charter was asked for the Bank in 1832, hoping Jackson's veto would make him unpopular. However this back fire, as many agreed with Jackson's view of the Bank. It was unconstitutional, inexpedient, and had too much foreign stock, he thought. Private owners, not the government, were making money off the state banks. **

**However, only the secretary of the treasury could withdraw funds from the Bank, in order to "kill" it. Secretary Louis McLane did not agree with Jackson, and so he "promoted" him to secretary of state, and replaced him with William J. Duane. Jackson failed to check Duane's beliefs before appointing him, though; he agreed with McLane. Attorney General Roger B. Taney eventually replaced him, and agreed to transport government funds into several "pet" state banks. The distribution eventually evened.**

**Biddle, in hopes of regaining lost fund, limited printing to the point of causing an artificial panic. He hoped Jackson would be blames, and pressured to return funds. It worked for awhile, but Jackson refused to budge, eventually transferring the blame back to Biddle, who relented under the pressure. **

**Before this whole affair, America was going through their form of the industrial Revolution, triggered by the War of 1812. Factories sprang up, cotton became very popular in the south with the use of new inventions, and other creations, like steamboats, aided the process alone. I could go into more detail on this, but I don't know if it would interest any of you, and I don't know where to begin writing America into it.**

**I hope Jackson isn't too terrible :/ He's a difficult one to write, that Jackson is. I feel like I wrote him too negatively. **

**Also, for the future, how much are you guys interested in culture? Because my book has a lot of it, in some upcoming chapters. I don't know if I'd include it in the main story part, but I could put in some notes about it.**

**Sorry for the wait, guys ^^' I tried to post this Friday, but Fanfiction wouldn't let me upload the document. Was just able to get it up now. **


	43. Chapter 43

"Where's America?" Calhoun questioned, coming into the office.

"Ill, I think," Jackson winced. "He looked fit to vomit. I pity the boy."

"Oh," Calhoun made a sympathetic face. "I hope it's nothing too serious."

"As do we all, I'm sure," Jackson agreed, a cutting edge to his tone. "Did you have business with him?"

"Yes, I…" Calhoun trailed off, before continuing, tone equally standoffish. "It can wait. I'll come back another time, when he's feeling better."

"You could leave a message with me," Jackson hinted, a bit of sarcasm edging into his tone.

"Just let him know I was in when he returns. And give him my best wishes for his recovery." Calhoun answered frostily, before turning away to leave.

"Of course," Jackson replied stiffly, as the other man left. Frowning, he returned to his paperwork.

* * *

America slid down the wall into a haphazard sitting position, wiping the bile from his mouth. This had been the worst attack by far, but it had come with traces of thoughts too, images…America didn't know if that was better or worse.

_Kind smiling faces. Darker skin, dark hair. There were children, laughing children with their hands thrown up, extended…he was running around with them, grinning himself and…_

A sudden wave of nausea surged through him, and he was on his knees again, his stomach emptying whatever contents remained in it across the lawn of the White House.

_The same faces were tear-streaked now, etched with fear, anger…hatred. _

Pain…so much pain. America felt as if his insides were burning.

_Mothers holding children, men, white men coming after them…shooting. America's own men, his own…_

What was this…what was—?

_No, they were going to die. These kind people, so kind. And this was how they were repaid. Gunshots, bursting over and over again. _

_No…Stop…_

The young Nation clutched his head, pain-induced tears seeping down his cheeks. Why weren't they stopping, why were they hurting these innocent people…? They couldn't…they…

_Sickness, gut-wrenching hunger...tears, so many tears..._

"No…No…NO!" He shouted, digging his fingers into his head.

"America, there you…good god!" A voice exclaimed, first in a greeting, then in alarm. Hands were on his shoulders, shaking him. "What's wrong? America, what—?"

"They're killing them!" the blond shrieked, tearful eyes darting up to meet Calhoun's. He looked absolutely distraught, blood encrusting his fingernails from where he had dug in so tightly.

"Killing who?" Calhoun questioned alarmed, but America's only answer was another wave of vomit. His stomach was already empty, merely acidic saliva dripping out his mouth. Calhoun refrained from withdrawing…there was no time for that.

"What's going on, America? Answer me!" No response, just more dry heaves accompanied by sobbing. "America!"

"My people…my…" But he would go on no farther. Or rather couldn't, Calhoun reflected morosely as the retching resumed.

The poor boy…he wished he knew what was wrong.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Jackson and Calhoun did not get along well at all, despite agreeing on most political issues apart from states rights vs. federal government. Jackson believed in a centralized government, while Calhoun was pro-states rights. **

**John C. Calhoun desperately wanted to be president, and so he accepted the vice-presidency under Jackson, despite disliking the man. He hoped to be elected after Jackson's term ran out, if not sooner, as the president's health was poor. But Jackson showed favor in Martin Van Buren, who as secretary of state, also was a prime candidate for the succession. **

**Calhoun's wife took the lead in snubbing Peggy Eaton, wife of the secretary of war. Peggy was supposed to have had an affair with Eaton while she was still married to another man. Jackson, very sympathetic due to the attacks he and Rachel had dealt with, resolutely defended her good name. This further estranged the two.**

**Many believed removal of Indians to lands beyond the Mississippi was the only humane way to resolve the situation, as many Indians didn't care to adopt the white way of life.**

**The Cherokees inhabited a region ideal for cotton-growing, and thus, particularly desired by the Americans. They tried to hold onto their land by taking up farming and cattle raising, developing a written language, drafting a constitution, and trying to establish a state within northwestern Georgia. But Georgia passed a law in 1828, voiding all Cherokee laws, refusing to recognize their independent "state".**

**The Indians challenged this law in the Supreme Court. Chief Justice, John Marshall ruled that the Cherokee were "not a foreign state, in the sense of the Constitution" and therefore could not sue in a United States court. However, in two previous cases, Marshall had ruled in favor of the Cherokees. **

**The Trail of Tears was the forceful removal of 15,000 Cherokees to the area beyond the Mississippi, after Jackson sided against them in court. 4,000 of them died on the journey from exposure, disease, and starvation. **

**Jackson's backing of Georgia convinced extreme southern states' righters that he would not oppose the doctrine of nullification should it be formally applied to a law of Congress. They were later to find out this was not the case. Jackson had only approved Georgia, because he sympathized with their position, speaking of the "poor deluded…Cherokees" and calling William Wirt, the distinguished lawyer who defended their cause, a "truly wicked" man. **

**I apologize for this chapter being short…and late. I've just been bogged down with homework...loads and loads of it, and I wanted to get something up, and I need to go study so I don't have time to squeeze the Nullification Crisis in here. That will be coming up next time.**

**Instead, you get a quick random little tidbit I learned from Mr. Sapienza (my history teacher):**

**When American settlers were moving westward, they had a bizarre practice of burning their front doors. The reason they did this, so I hear, is because nails were a measure of wealth. So they would stick as many nails as they could find in their front door to show their wealth, and when the time came to move, they would burn the door so that they could easily get all the nails out. **

**I find this interesting :] **

**Also I had to write a creative fictional piece for English, based on non-fictional stuff we've read. I ended up writing about Henry David Thoreau, if anyone knows him. And I stuck America in, because it makes me laugh that my teacher will be clueless XD**


	44. Chapter 44

"I refuse to let this go on under my leadership!" Jackson announced, pacing back and forth within his office. "Secession! Secession...to think they would even consider it. It's illegal, it's treason it's..."

And he continued on. America leant back against the window at his familiar post, watching the man and listening, but also not. His mind was elsewhere, thinking of the situation at hand. The South Carolinians were obviously unhappy. Not that that was surprising; they had been vehemently opposed to the new tariffs all along.

But to threaten secession? America wasn't sure how he felt about that, just that it made part of his leg tingle in an oddly uncomfortable way. He wanted his country to stay united, wanted them to all stay together. But if they were truly unhappy...he definitely didn't want any of his people to be happy. Perhaps...

"We should lower the tariff," Jackson suggested, as if having heard his thoughts. "And then if they still don't comply, we will have no choice but to use force. If they leave the Union it will only open the doors for more secession and prove democracy a weak institution. We can not allow them to commit such a crime and get away with it. Our Union can hardly stand without the ability to enforce laws."

America nodded, hoping the situation would be so easy to solve.

_"Your people are just as capable of such violen—"_

_"Not against themselves!"_

The young Nation frowned. What was that, all of a sudden? He shuddered to remember that encounter with France and the subsequent one. But what relevance...?

Jackson called him to come along before he could finish the thought.

* * *

"Tell...the Nullifiers from me that they can talk and write resolutions and print threats to their heart's content but if one drop of blood be shed there in defiance of the laws of the United States, I will hang the first man of them I can get my hands on to the first tree I can find."

~Andrew Jackson

**

* * *

**

_Fighting, dying...blood. Gray and blue, uniforms slipshod and ragged. His own people, fighting against each other, guns raised, bullets firing. He ran forward, calling out for them to stop, but he couldn't make a sound, his mouth only forming the words uselessly. No one was paying him any attention._

_Fear and pain...those were the only two sentiments he could feel. Those and an overwhelming urge to make it all stop. Stop, stop...because they shouldn't be fighting, no against each other. But no matter what he tried, the words would not come, and even if they had, he doubted they'd make headway. But he needed to do something needed to..._

America jerked up in bed, cold sweat clinging to him all over. Just a dream, just a dream, he assured himself, running a hand through his hair. But it had felt so real...

Nonsense, nonsense. His people would never do such a terrible thing, despite what France said. He knew his own people better than a deranged foreign country in the midst of tearing himself apart. France hadn't been himself, he hadn't meant it.

But still, America could not return to sleep that night. The tingling in his leg would not subside.

* * *

"The Laws of the United States must be executed. I have no discretionary power on the subject...Those who told you that you might peaceably prevent their execution decieved you. Disunion by armed force is treason. Are you really ready to incur its guilt?"

"Unions men, fear not. The Union will be preserved."

~Andrew Jackson

**

* * *

**

America was standing by his window, looking out blankly at the surrounding city, when a thin hand clapped him strongly on the shoulder. "It's over," Jackson's familiar voice assured. "We put them down, and they'll think twice about rising up again."

America smiled, letting the few words reasure him. There would be plenty of time to worry later, and matters were good now. No need to sour them with unecessary anxiety and pessimism.

And the dreams did not return for quite some time.

**

* * *

**

**Historical Notes: The South and West distrusted each other, and as such did not work as a group to reduce the tariff and the price of land. The South were strongly against Westward expansion, wary of the fertile lands and the rival output they would make. In 1832, an act was passed, lowering duties much less than the Southerns wanted.**

**The South was also wary of the recent slave uprisings. The trade had been abolished in 1808, but a burst of importation occurred shortly before the abolishment. Nat Turner and Denmark Vesey, while unsuccessful in their separate revolts, alarmed whites in the South. If the North could boss them into these new tariff rates, then they would be able to boss them into abolishment as well. Threatened by slavery agitation and the new tariff policy, the saw secession as the only logical option.**

**John C. Calhoun reasoned that, as the states had originally agreedto the Constitution, they had the right to "disagree", or nullify, a measure. Jackson took the exact opposite view, beleiving that if the government could not pass a law, and have it obeyed, the Union would fall apart. Jackson's warning was not taken seriously in the South. On November 24th, 1832, a specially selected, majority-nullifier convention passed an ordinance of nullification prohibiting the collection of tariff duties in the state after February 1, 1833. **

**Jackson first suggested Congress lower the tariff more to placate the South. When this failed, he issued a "Proclamation to the People of South Carolina". He urged them to reconsider and realize that what they were doing was not peaceable, but illegal, and that if they did not relent, he would not hesitate to take action. **

**Calhoun, alarmed, resigned as vice-president to take Senator Hayne's place in the Senate; this was pre-arranged. He and Clay, with the rest of Congress, feared Jackson would act irrationally in he face of this dilemma. Jackson was collecting troops, and claimed he would have 200,000 troops by the approaching February 1st. **

**Many South Carolinians, sobered by Jackson's determination, relented, although radical pushed on. But the other southern states refused to join them in their nullification, and Unionists in South Carolina threatened Civil War should nullification occur. In March 1833, Calhoun and Clay pushed a compromise tariff through Congress, as well as a Force Act that would allow the president increased authority to execute these tariffs. The South Carolinians repealed the Nullification Ordinance, and the crisis came to an end. However, it proved to South Carolina they would need the support of the other slave states in order to secede, what they felt was the only way to ensure the protection of slavery.**

**Sorry it took so long to get this up, but I've been swamped with post-midterm work. And just busy in general. As I type, I'm snowed in at a friend's house, getting this up while they're sleeping. She decided to ahve a spur of the moment sleepover party and invited a few of us over...on the grounds that today would probably be a snow day. Which it was. Would've had this up yesterday otherwise. Anyway, hope you like the chapter. More Civil War foreshadowing...we'll get there ^^'**

No account, loving the stories**:** **Yes, the poor Cherokees D: They tried so hard to get the Americans to let them keep their land, but the Americans were jerks and pushed them out anyway. The disease and stuff wasn't anticipated, true, but they still made them leave in the first place. It's just a terrible thing that didn't have to happen T-T I guess that's why they call it the Trail of Tears. Thank you for the review.**


	45. Chapter 45

"This is nonsense!" Jackson fumed, pushing past his Nation to glare at the other foreign one. "You agreed to make the payment, so make the payment. This resistance will not be tolerated."

France gaped at the taller man, taken aback. "Sir, I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding…I'll go talk to my people and get this straightened out."

"You better," Jackson frowned, crossing his arms.

France made a covert gesture to America as he paced off briskly. The young Nation, catching the motion. Excused himself, and hurried after the older blond.

France was leaning against the corridor's wall, when America caught up to him, arms crossed, his eye brow raised. "Is he always like this? I mean…I'm sure it's just a mistake, and he has right to be put off, but not _livid_."

"It's how he is," America shrugged with a wry smile. "Despite it all…he can be a good guy."

France merely returned the shrug, before continuing off down the hall.

* * *

"Hello!" Van Buren greeted as he entered the room, a charming smile on his face. He deposited his bags on the floor fluidly, before extending his right hand towards the young Nation. "I look forward to working with you."

"Thank you," America grinned back, shaking the hand before him. "I return the feelings."

How comfortingly familiar it was to have that quiet politeness back again. Jackson really been something, neither all bad nor good, but definitely an experience.

Retreating to his usual spot, America watched the man unpack. He was pleasant enough, collected and skilled with words. Calmer now than he had been in his younger years, or so America had been told. It was hard to keep track of so many people, hard to remember all their different beliefs and personalities, but America tried his best. Jackson had liked Van Buren, so he'd become fairly familiar with the name.

He hoped this presidency would prove less eventful than the last. Not that Jackson hadn't been interesting, in his own right. He just needed a break.

* * *

"I don't blame you, you know," America assured, before lapsing into another coughing fit. He'd managed to make it in today, despite the cold, but was starting to regret having done so.

"A lot of people do, though," Van Buren sighed, before straightening in his chair. "But I don't blame myself, for all that counts. I just hope you get better. It's depressing to see young people sick."

America smiled warmly, before the coughing returned, this time accompanied by a powerful sneeze that blew a few papers off the president's desk.

"Sorry!" America apologized immediately, getting up to retrieve the fallen documents. But his head spun the moment he stood up fully, and Van Buren managed to beat him to them.

"Just relax," Van Buren advised, returning to his seat, as America plopped back down on his own. A moment passed before he continued. "Appearances aren't everything. You're really older than the rest of us."

* * *

**Historical Notes: Credit became easier to obtain, as a result of increased foreign capital; people rushed to buy land, often mortgaging their pre-existing land to buy more. This caused rapid expansion and profits for the bank. Jackson, alarmed, issued the Specie Circular, which forced all public land to be paid for in gold and silver. Demand for land fell, and when many rushed to withdraw funds, banks could not comply. He successfully curtailed the land book, and started a financial panic. **

**France agreed to pay America $5 million for compensation of American ships prior to the War of 1812, but when the United States vied for their first installment, the French Chamber of Duties refused to give the money over. Jackson reacted violently, stopping diplomatic relations with France and readying the Navy. The Chamber eventually complied, and the matter dissipated. Jackson's behavior cemented the belief that America was a rash young country, distrustful of foreigners. **

**For the Election of 1836, there were two main parties. The Jacksonians and the Whigs. The Jacksonians were suspicious of special privileged and large business corporations. They supported freedom of economic opportunity, absolutely political freedom, and believed any man was capable of performing the duties of most public offices. Their motto was that "That government is best which governs least". They glorified the common man. **

**The Whigs, on the other hand, were disjointed, unable to agree on much else besides their anti-Jackson sentiments. They were the well-educated, non-"pet" bankers, and in general any one against Jackson's "coarseness and pushiness". Having many capable men, they did not have a set leader. **

**For the Election of 1836, the Whigs tried to pick those they thought would be popular in each region: Daniel Webster in New England, Hugh Lawson White for the South and West (an ex-friend of Jackson's), and General William Harrison in the Northwest to draw support for those that liked military figures. They hoped to have the affair sent to the House of Representatives for settlement once an electoral majority was reached, but this plan failed. Van Buren won 58% of the Electoral vote, and 50.9% of the popular vote. **

**Martin Van Buren was an eloquent speaker, cunning and excellent at political manipulation, a favorite of Jackson. But high office sobered him, and improved his judgment. He believed in internal improvement on a state level, though he hedged on the idea of tariffs, not taking a clear position. He believed in the **_**laissez –faire**_** policy, that the government should not interfere in the economy.**

**However, his laid back approach towards the economy caused many to blame him for the Panic of 1837. Its effects were frightening, but short-lived. The banks stopped converting paper money into gold and silver, easing the pressure on the money market, decreasing interest rates and making business loans easier to obtain. But in 1839, a bump crop caused the rice of cotton to decline. Then several state governments that had over-extended themselves in road and canal building were forced to take up their debts. Both of these events discouraged investors, leading to a general depression until 1843. **

**Van Buren was not to blame for the panic or the depression, but his hands off approach was not helpful in its resolution. He refused to accept responsibility for general welfare, despite being a Jacksonian, his main concern being to find a substitute for the state banks as a place to keep federal funds. **

**His independent treasury bill called for construction of government owned vaults where federal reserves would be stored. All payments to the government would have to be in hard cash. After much debate, the Independent Treasury Act finally made it past both House and Senate in 1840.**

**Many objected to the concentration of specie in government hands but due to gold in California (which we will be getting into ^^') and British investment in railroads, the issue never came up. **

**I am so sorry guys. I meant to update more over break, not less. But between the Olympics, newly interesting because of Hetalia (Canada must be so happy ^^), skiing, writers block, etc. this chapter took much longer than expected. Not evry happy with how it turned out, either...mostly historical notes ' Might edit it again later. **

**I also spent a good time watching Pandora Hearts, my newest interest. Finished the anime, and I actually put up a story for it: Malapropos. From Child to Hero still has priority, though, so don't fear. **

**But yeah…Alfred should be getting his glasses soon, and hopefully next chapter won't take as long. **


	46. Chapter 46

"What are these?" America questioned one day, holding up a pair of spectacles. They caught the faint light of the sun, amplifying it and making a white glare on the floor.

"I found them laying around the other day," Van Buren explained, his tone oddly sharp. Pointedly, he held his hand out, and America placed the suspicious object in his palm. "I am correct in assuming they aren't yours?" He questioned, tone regaining it's normal pleasantness.

"No," America allowed a laugh to catch in his voice. "I hope I don't need glasses for some time to come, sir."

Van Buren smiled, but there was a twitch in the corner of his mouth. His eyes kept drifting over to the corner of his desk, where he had set down the spectacles.

"Is there something wrong?" America inquired after a stretch, concerned.

Van Buren jumped slightly, before leaning back in his chair, expression weary. "It's nothing. Just some trouble down South."

"You mean Texas?" the young Nation guessed, watching how Van Buren's gaze immediately fell on the glasses as he said the last word. Odd that.

"Yes, I do," Van Buren answered, voice hesitant. "You're aware of what has been going on down there, I presume?"

"Of course," America replied, before going to, his tone that of a child proudly showing his knowledge to a teacher. "We've had a lot of Americans move in down there, and there's been fighting. Our people don't want like how Mexico is restricting them, so they've been fighting back. They recently got independence, and Jackson acknowledged them, but…"

"…refused to annex them," Van Buren finished with a grim smile. "Very good. That's the basic idea behind matters."

A silence stretched, before America picked up the courage to continue. "And you, sir…Are you going to annex them? A lot of our people are for it, and England has been trying to get to them."

"Has he?" Van Buren queried, tone distracted, eyes drifting over to the spectacles once more. After awhile he shook his head, as if to wake himself. "That wouldn't be good…we can't have Britain gaining more interests over here."

"So are you going to allow them in?" America questioned once more, perking up. Van Buren seemed more receptive to the idea than Jackson. If he could get to the area before England, that would serve the Brit right.

Another long silence stretched, before Van Buren answered. "No, America…I'm afraid I won't. There's no doubt it would start a war with Mexico, and I don't want that to happen. Not right now, with the panic and everything. I wouldn't want to push you in your current state…"

Evidently, he had given the wrong excuse. "I'm fine!" America insisted, getting to his feet, as if to demonstrate his point. "And Mexico won't try anything, anyway. We just want Texas…they should be glad we're helping out. They won't have to deal with all the problems down there anymore."

"It's not that simple, America," Van Buren ran a hand over his face, though his tone remained patient. "They don't want to let go of Texas, they _will_ fight us…"

"But England's going to…" America began to protest, but was interrupted.

"Britain won't start a war, America. They're smarter than that. They…"

"But he will!" America insisted, earnest pleading in his eyes. "He has an affinity for picking up children, he'll leap at this chance. I don't know if Texas has a Nation…someone like me. But if they do, England will want to step in. Especially since Texas is on our…"

"America, please," Van Buren sighed, gaze beseeching. "Just trust me on this, okay? I'm not sure what to make of that, really I'm not. All I know is that we don't need a war right now. So please just let it go. Please."

"All right," America frowned, obviously deflated.

Turning around, he went to sit at his familiar seat by the window, gazing out at the rain drops, dripping down the window pane. A large one would roll down the glass, gathering all those in its wake. Not like a mother collecting her children, but rather like a monster, absorbing all the other little raindrops, despite their wishes.

Maybe they liked being alone, even if they were smaller and not as capable as the big rain drop. Maybe they liked their little spot, and just wanted to keep to themselves, existing as they wished. The big raindrops had no right to take their freedom away, no right to overpower smaller weaker things. No right to control them, regardless of what they might want.

_"You aren't the boss of me! You don't control me. You're not my father, or whatever you seem to think you are…"_

"_I'm not putting up with you anymore. I'm going to become my own country, free of you and your stupid rules!"_

America brushed the tear drop away, turning back to look at Van Buren. The older man was looking off to the other side, breathing even, but his form was obviously tense.

On the corner of his desk still lay the pair of ownerless glasses, glinting in the artificial light. The more America stared, the more there seemed to be more to them. More in an indescribably complex way, a presence glasses shouldn't have about them.

America shook his head, dismissing the thoughts as he turned back to the window. Inanimate objects didn't have a presence, the idea was insane.

But as he continued to gaze through the glass at the progressing storm, he couldn't help but feel as if there were eyes on the back of his head, watching him. Waiting for him to make a move.

* * *

**Historical Notes: In the Transcontinental Treaty of 1819 with Spain, the boundary of the United States had been drawn in such a way as to exclude Texas. At first, this was fairly unimportant, but in February 1821, Stephen F. Austin led Americans in to the area to begin settlement. At almost the same time, Mexico became independent of Spanish rule. President John Quincy Adams had offered $1 million for Texas, and Jackson was willing to pay $5 million, but Mexico refused to sell. **

**Cotton grew well on the fertile plains of Texas, and for awhile the new Mexican authorities offered free land and relative independence to groups of American settlers. By 1830, there were around 20,000 white Americans, 2,000 slaves, and only a few thousand Mexicans. The immigrants felt no loyalty to the Mexican government. Most were Protestants, despite the Mexican law requiring all immigrants to be Catholics. Few tried to learn more than a few words of Spanish. When Mexico outlawed slavery in 1829, the Americans "freed" their slaves, and then had them "sign" lifetime contracts as servants. When Mexico tried to prohibit further American immigration in 1830, they were ignored. **

**When the Mexican government began restricting the Texans, they started skirmishes, which developed into a full rebellion by 1835. Mexican president, Antonio López de Santa Anna, marched north with 6,000 soldiers to subdue the rebels. He arrived in San Antonio late February 1836. A force of 187 men under Colonel William B. Travis held the city. They took refuge behind the walls of a former mission called the Alamo. For 10 days they resisted Santa Anna's attacks. But on March 6, the Mexicans breached and scaled the walls. Once inside they killed everyone, even the wounded, and then burned the corpses. Among the dead were Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie. A similar slaughter took place at another garrison, the Goliad. Peaceful settlement between Texas and Mexico was impossible. **

**On March 2, 1836, Texas declared its independence. Sam Houston, a former congressman and governor of Tennessee and an experience Indian fighter, was placed in charge of the rebel army. Initially, Houston retreated before Santa Anna's troops, who greatly outnumbered his own. At the San Jacinto River, he took a stand. On April 21, 1836, shouting "Forward! Charge! Remember the Alamo! Remember Goliad!" his troops cut defeated the Mexican army, causing them to retreat back across the Rio Grande. In October, Houston was elected president of the Republic of Texas. A month later, it was revealed the majority of the Texans wanted annexation by the United States. **

**Jackson hesitated, fearing war with Mexico, and stirring up the slavery controversy. On his last day in office he recognized the republic, but made no move to accept it into the Union, nor did Van Buren. Texas went it's own way, developing friendly ties with Great Britain. An independent Texas was useful to the British, providing an alternative supply of raw cotton and a market for manufactures without the bother of tariffs. **

**As for culture of the time. An interest in public reform came about. The Temperance Union was founded in 1826, and tried to discourage alcohol, using primitive studies to show the correlation between it and crime. **

**The Second Great Awakening took place as American began to question traditional religious concepts. For example, the Calvinist ideal of children as inherently evil. With the development of society, parents became more attached to their children, and began to think different. With this concept in question, they began to question the other strict policies of religion, and what it meant for their afterlife and daily life. **

**The Mormons arose in the 1830's, following The Book of Mormon, written by Joseph Smith. They preached dedication and economic efficiency, as well as polygamy. Smith was lynched in 1844, and eventually they had to flee to Salt Lake City, Utah to escape prejudice in 1847. The Shakers were in full flow at this time as well. They were against relations between men and women, and the birth of children, believing the world was about to dance. They were none for their wild dances through which they released tension, and from which they got their name as the Shakers. The first Shaker community was founded back in 1774 by Ann Lee.**

**As the utopian communities flourished, schools were created for the disabled, blind and deaf. William Lloyd garrison founded **_**The Liberator**_** in 1831, an abolitionist. He was hot headed and passionate, spurring violence (getting attacked by mobs, etc.) he supported the women's rights movement. He wanted immediate and total equality for blacks. Frederick Douglas took a more calm approach, fighting for slavery within the system. He was a talented public speaker, and despite having been a slave during his early life, many stated that he did not "seem" like a slave. **

**Dorothea Dix, realizing how terrible mental institutes were (patients were beaten and locked in cells, completely isolated), set out to travel the world, internationally and nationally to gather ideas and try to make changes. Unfortunately, she was unable to do much. **

**I think that's enough for now. Texas officially creeps me out. Possessed glasses –shudders- I'm sorry this took so long to get up, but I have been swamped with school work. In fact, I should be working on a research paper for English and studying for History as we speak. The latter of which, I'm sort of doing…but not really, since the quiz is on World War II. Also, it was my brother's 21****st**** birthday, so we celebrated that, and just…busy busy busy. And still the Olympics. **

**Also, you know how people say you can feel paralyzed when you wake up sometimes, because your mind blocks off your body's movements while you're asleep to prevent you acting out the dream? I didn't believe it until it happened to me this morning. Scariest thing in my life ;_; I heard it usually happened after bad dreams, but...this one was freaking terrifying. Has this ever happened to any of you?**

**I'll get back into a normal schedule sometime, I promise.**

**You guys were such awesome reviewers too D: I couldn't believe my eyes, so many so quick, and I didn't even give you quick update in thanks. I'm really sorry. Sort of longish chapter, and extra culture notes as a bonus, yes?**

**I don't know why America is so formal with Van Buren…it just came out that way.**

just another fma fan**: Hetalia makes everything better ^^ Yay Canada! Thanks for the review. Glad you enjoyed the chapter!  
**


	47. Chapter 47

"That was a great speech!" America congratulated, removing his sopping jacket, once they finally escaped the crowd. The young Nation was reminded of those years ago, when a similar occurrence had happened with Jackson, albeit on a grater scale.

Harrison smiled back at him, stifling a cough, as he shivered—he hadn't worn a coat, determined to prove that his strength still remained. "Indeed, if only the weather hadn't been so bad. But one's got to make do with what they get, I suppose."

"Yeah," America grinned contently, shaking the water from his hair. In the process he managed to get some on the new president. Just as he was about to apologize, the older man began laughing, the young Nation joining in.

"Sir," a maid interrupted, holding out two towels to the both of them. Gratefully, they thanked her, and began making use of the cloths.

It was weird, having a new president already. His time with Van Buren had flown, remotely uneventful: his cold had quickly passed. The man had been calm and collected, persuasive when he needed to be, and polite. It was a wonder how he and Jackson had gotten along, the two were so different.

But there had been that squabble about Texas. America still remembered Van Buren's guarded expression, his stiffness in answering questions. And the glasses had remained on that desk to this day, a constant reminder of the occasion. Perhaps Harrison would be more receptive.

* * *

"Are you feeling all right?" America commented several weeks later as the two sat in office, enjoying an unusually quiet day. Since Harrison's inauguration, office-seekers had been in near constantly, pestering and buzzing about all manner of things.

Harrison covered another cough, sniffing slightly. "Just a cold," he assured, sneezing.

"G'bless," America replied automatically, before continuing on, concerned. "Are you sure? I don't mean to be offensive, sir, but you don't look very well."

"It's nothing some good rest won't sort out," Harrison reassured once more, brushing the matter off.

"That's just the thing," America pushed on, not one to be deterred. "You haven't been getting enough rest with all these people in and out constantly. We can keep them out for a little bit…surely your health must come first?"

"I'm the president," Harrison laughed with a smile. "I can't just turn my people away from me."

"Yeah," America returned the expression, the concern lifted from his heart.

Only to return with full force mere days later, and then some.

"Mr. America!" someone shouted, followed my hurried knocks on the door.

America startled at his name, running a hand over his face as he pulled on an overcoat, before hurrying to the door. "Yes?"

"The President is sick," the man announced, turning out to be none other than Clay. He'd been pestering Harrison lately, trying to control the government from the sidelines, if he could not be president—the man was persist, if nothing else—but now his voice was laced with pure concern, his tone shaking ever so slightly. "He wanted to see you. It's not looking too well."

Wordlessly, America followed the other man through the halls, eventually reaching Harrison's bedroom.

"America," the man greeted, when the young Nation stepped in. A few lights were on, casting shadows over the president's now paled skin, accentuating the bags under his eyes to make him look almost ghastly.

"Mr. Harrison, sir, what happened?" America came closer, kneeling on the floor beside his president's bed so that the man would not have to raise his voice.

"Oddest thing…I feel fine before," he broke off into a series of coughs. They continued on for a stretch, before he found his voice again. "I want to go see my wife. And you were right, I need my rest…I'm not going to get that here."

"I understand," America nodded, a reassuring smile on his face. "I'll go with—"

A shake of Clay's head cut him off before he could finish, but Harrison could guessed the rest. "I'd rather you stay here, America. I'll hopefully be up running again soon, but I would like it if you stayed here and kept track of things. I trust you to do what's best…_coughcough_…for our people."

"I…I understand," America repeated, voice steady though his hands were shaking.

"That's a boy," Harrison grinned, clapping him weakly on the arm.

The president left the next morning, after sorting out the necessary measures.

Nine days later, they received notice that, despite the best efforts of his doctors, the president had passed away.

_"Sir, I wish you to understand the true principles of the government. I wish them carried out. I ask nothing more."_

His last words. America looked away from the other men gathered in the office, Vice president Tyler, now the president, Clay and Webster, not wanting them to see the tears he knew would come. They always came, no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

But as he stood there, hands shaking, they did not come. And perhaps that bothered him more than the constant stream of tears.

* * *

**Historical Notes: ****In the Election of 1840, the Democrats ran Van Buren with vice president of Richard Johnson, the killer of Tecumseh in the War of 1812. The Whigs chose to run General William Henry Harrison, with vice president John Tyler. They promoted Harrison as an average American, saying he lived in a log cabin and drank ordinary hard cider. In reality, he came from a distinguished family, the son of Benjamin Harrison, a signer of the Declaration of Independence and a former governor of Virginia. He was well educated, wealthy enough to live comfortably, and did not live in a log cabin by any means; still the Whigs ignored this and continued on with their "Log Cabin Campaign". The Whigs contrasted him from Harrison, as 'an aristocrat that dined off gold plates, and drank foreign wine'. The Whigs also boasted of Harrison's military record and reputation as the hero of the Battle of Tippecanoe, their campaign slogan, "****Tippecanoe and Tyler, too****".**

**Harrison was very popular, against the 'high-class' Van Buren, winning the election 234 to 60. He had no plans to be an aggressive leader, believing Jackson had overused the veto. Like Washington, he planned to reinforce separation of legislative and executive powers. This delighted the Whigs, who had had enough of Jackson's pushiness. But John Henry Clay and Daniel Webster both tried to gain influence over the president, Clay going so far as to put forth his preferences for Cabinet offices and other presidential appointments. Eventually Harrison got fed up with Clay's pressuring, and ordered the man not to visit the White House again, rather write to him only in letters.**

**Harrison delivered the longest inauguration speech of American History, even after Webster edited it for length. And to prove his strength, he decided to wear neither a coat, nor a hat. The speech lasted nearly two hours on a cold wet day. Washington was flooded by office seekers after the inaugural parade, open at that time to any who wanted to meet with the president. When Harrison began feeling ill, he could not find a quiet room to rest. ****He died of pneumonia contracted during his inauguration speech, becoming ill March 26****th**** and dying nine days later on April 4****th****. Harrison was the first US President to die while in office.**

**I meant to have this up earlier, but I decided to be studious and finish my research paper on Huck Finn for English first. That and this chapter didn't want to come. Not quite as thrilled with it as I was last chapter…so I might look over it again later. Either way, the Mexican-American War should be coming up soon, and I have a question to ask.**

**Should I create a personification for Mexico? In my mind, Mexico would be a girl…not that I'm trying to be sexist or anything. I am a girl, for those of you that aren't aware, so I wouldn't be sexist against myself. I will probably remain vague on the details of her, but any comments or suggestions are welcome. I won't necessarily use them, but I will definitely take them all into consideration ^^ So just views on the subject I guess. Thank you all for reading!**


	48. Chapter 48

"Are you all right?" When America entered the office to see bags beneath Tyler's eyes, and an aura of exhaustion around the man, he had at once been concerned, thoughts darting back immediately to Harrison.

"I'm fine," Tyler assured, rubbing at his temples as he straightened in his chair. "It's just…_Clay_. He's out for me, I swear. First the Bank issue, and now all this mess on the tariffs. It's insanity. He's turning my own administration against me."

"I'm sure it will all work out," America smiled, with his seemingly perpetual optimism. "Is there anything I can do to help? Besides knock off Clay, I mean."

Tyler's mouth quirked into a grin at the young Nation's joke. With a chuckle, he shook his head. "I've got it under control, America, but thank you for the offer. This is just a bunch of economic stuff…you wouldn't be interested. Anyway, Webster's going to be meeting with Britain's minister soon, if you want to tag along with that?"

"Sure," America agreed instantly. It had been awhile since he'd last seen England.

* * *

"You found Franklin's map?" America questioned, glancing briefly at the worn parchment in Webster's hand.

"Oh, no," Webster denied with a smirk. He held the paper out for the Nation's inspection, tracing a finger down the red ink. "I just found an old map and had someone mark it off. They'll never be able to tell the difference."

When he noticed the frown on America's face, he quickly continued on. "I'm just trying to avoid any more of a squabble over this. If we let Britain get what it wants now, then they'll be more partial to us and our opinions later on. Besides, it's not as if we're giving them all of this, just the bit they want."

"I suppose," America's frown faltered, before turning into a smile. "England always says I never help him out any, so this should make him happy."

"Exactly," Webster agreed, briskly leading the way into the room where the final settlements would take place.

The meeting passed quickly, with little difficulty. The representatives of Maine and Massachusetts were livid when informed of the results, but Webster's little ploy convinced them immediately, as they feared Britain might ask for the whole territory if should they hear word of the map. Tricking them left a bitter taste in America's mouth, but he supposed it was for the best. Settlements would have no doubt been much more prolonged, if not for Webster's insight.

As it was, England and his diplomat had arrived promptly. The older Nation listened intently throughout the proposal, looking pleasantly surprised when the desired land was offered up. Ashburton was pleased as well, nodding in approval as Webster continued on about the rest of the border.

When the meeting ended, he made to leave but, much to his surprise was stopped by none other than England. The older Nation made a quick excuse to Ashburton, who nodded pleasantly, before walking away to join the others.

America waited, beside his old caretaker, as the other tried to find the words to speak in the now empty room.

"I…I—thank you, America," England stuttered out, cheeks coloring slightly. "It was nice of you to cooperate. I didn't think you had it in you to be so…so civil."

"…" America's eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the fairly straight forward compliment. When he continued his voice was soft, a truly happy pleased smile on his face. "You're welcome…England. Thank you for—"

"It was for my own benefit!" England announced, before hurrying out of the room, before America had a chance to tell him that made no sense. So caught up was he in the pleasantness of the moment, that he did not notice the Brit covertly slipping a folded sheet of paper into his jacket.

* * *

**Historical Notes: 'When news of Harrison's nomination reached Clay in Washington, he was half drunk. His face darkened. "I am the most unfortunate man in the history of parties," he said, "always run…when sure to be defeated, and now betrayed for a nomination when I, or anyone, would be sure of an election." '- direct from my textbook**

**Tyler and Clay did not get along, mainly due to Clay's over-bearing behavior. This wasn't normal for Clay, but he felt he should've been the Whig candidate in 1840 for President, and considering himself the real head of the Whig party. **

**Vice-president John Tyler, now President, was a 'thin, rather delicate-appearing man with pale blue eyes and a long nose'. Courteous, tactful, and soft-spoken, he gave the impression of being weak, an impression further enforced by his belief that the president should defer to Congress in the creation of policy. In actuality, he was stubborn and proud, lacking in imagination. He disagreed with Henry Clay and the northern Whigs about the Bank, protective tariffs, and federal internal improvements. However, he was prepared to cooperate with Clay, as it was necessary, but he was not ready to 'be Clay's puppet'.**

**In Congress, Clay announced a comprehensive program that ignored Tyler's states' rights view of the Constitution. More important, was his plan to set up a new Bank of the United States. A bill repealing the Independent Treasury Act caused no trouble, but when Congress passed a bill that would create a new Bank, Tyler vetoed it. The entire Cabinet sans Secretary of State Webster resigned in protest. **

**Abandoned by the Whigs, Tyler tried to make a party of his own, but failed, the remainder of his term filled with political discord. Clay wanted to distribute the proceeds from land sales to the states in order to "bolster their sagging finances" though he really just wanted to reduce federal revenues to such a level that raising the tariff would be justified. In order to win Western support, he agreed to support the Preemption Act of 1841 that would legalize the right of squatters to occupy unsurveyed land and to buy it later at $1.25 an acre without bidding for it at an auction. **

**The Southerners, however, wanted an amendment promising that distribution would be stopped if the tariff was raised above the 20% level. When the Whigs tried to push a high tariff through Congress without repealing the Distribution Act, Tyler vetoed the bill. Eventually, the Distribution Act was repealed, and Tyler signed the new Tariff Act of 1842, raising duties to levels similar to those of 1832, which had led to Nullification Crisis.**

**Webster stayed in the Cabinet, partly because of his desire to settle the boundary between Maine and New Brunswick. The intent of the peace treaty of 1763 (French-Indian War) had been to award the United States all land in the area drained by rivers flowing into the Atlantic rather than into the St. Lawrence, but the wording was obscure and the old maps conflicting. In 1842, Britain sent a new minister, Lord Ashburton, to America to settle all land border disputes. A compromise was quickly worked out, as the British only need a small part of the territory to build a road connecting Halifax and Quebec. Webster, simply eager to avoid any possible cause of war, agreed. **

**Webster's generosity made sense. Lord Ashburton, happy about obtaining the desired territory, made other concessions along the Canadian and American border. British dependence on foreign foodstuffs and America's need for British capital were increasing. War, or even unresolved disputes, would have harmed vital business relations between the two. **

**However, placating Maine and Massachusetts was difficult, as they had wanted every acre of the disputed land. During the peace negotiations that ended the Revolution, Franklin had marked a boundary between Maine and Canada on a map with a heavy red line, but no one could find the map. So, Webster came up with a clever idea. He found an old map and had someone mark off a red line that followed Britain's version of the boundary, and showed this to the representatives of Maine and Massachusetts, convincing them to agree with his compromise before the British heard of this map and demanded the whole region. **

**It later came out that the British had a true copy of the Franklin map, which showed that the entire area belonged to the United States—that's the slip of paper Iggy had ;)**

**I ended up cutting the last part of this chapter once it got to be well over 2,000 words and the Notes turned into a monster. So, I more or less have the next chapter done/planned out, so that shouldn't take to long to get up. The actual Mexican-American War is taking awhile I forgot how much stuff came before it. **

**This part itself would have been up sooner, but it's approaching course selection time, and I've been deciding between all the choices (and filling out paperwork) since there are so many this year ._. Picked out everything by now, sans my math course. Either going to take Honors Intro to Calculus or AP Statistics…and that mental debate has been bothering me for days now ' If you guys have any input, I'd be glad to hear it. I'm so horribly indecisive sometimes.**

**Anyway, the response to last chapter was amazing :D Mexico as girl won (almost) unanimously. So I'll think about it, but I'm pretty sure that's the route I'm going to take. Thank you, everyone, for the input, and I apologize to those of you that think of Mexico as a boy ^^' **


	49. Chapter 49

"America, can you come here a moment?" Tyler asked one day, sitting at his desk, the by now familiar glasses in his hands.

"Yes?" curiously, the young Nation came over, looking down at the lenses.

"Can you put these on for a minute, please? I just want to see something," Tyler held out the spectacles.

Reluctantly, America took the seemingly sentient object, startled when a slight shock ran through his fingers as they made contact. Spurred on by curiosity, he pushed the frames onto his nose. It was a strange feeling, unaccustomed to the slight weight of glasses as he was. And the lenses were blurry, obscuring his vision. Not to mention the overwhelming sense of unease he felt, for whatever the reason.

"They feel weird," he summarized after a minute, taking the spectacles off and handing them back to the president. "And they started hurting my eyes after awhile."

"Hm…" Tyler hummed to himself, examining the lenses further. He put them on a couple of times himself, seemingly nonplussed.

"Sir…what was the purpose of that?" America questioned, interrupting the president in his internal musings.

"I was thinking of annexing Texas," Tyler announced, as if an answer to America's question. "Before Britain gets it."

"Really?" America asked, surprised, at once excited and suspicious. But he passed off the later emotion as paranoia: the odd glasses must've just set him on edge.

"Yes, I've replaced Webster with Upshur as secretary of state, and he shares my sentiment," Tyler set the lenses back down, watching America carefully for a reaction. "You wanted to annex Texas, right?"

"Yeah," America replied, much more half-heartedly than intended. He shook his head, before correcting himself in a more enthusiastic tone. "I mean…of course. Yes!"

"Good to hear," his president smiled softly, before turning back to his paperwork.

America watched the pen scribble back and forth, unnerved by the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

"Are you sure it's alright for me to leave?" America questioned, as he put the finishing touches to his packing.

"Of course," Tyler smiled encouragingly. "You're just heading out to Oregon for a little while…a few months. I trust you. And I'll try to make some headway with Texas' annexation while you're gone. I can tell you want to go, so run along and enjoy yourself!"

"Alright," America returned the grin, swinging the pack onto his shoulders with one hand, holding out the other. "Good luck here, then, and I'll be back in time for Christmas."

"Good luck," agreed Tyler, shaking his hand warmly. And so the two parted.

It had been so long since America had been allowed to go off on his own, explore the wilderness to his heart's content. It was more difficult than he remembered, traversing the vast landscapes, but it was refreshing in a way as well, such a pleasant change from the constant worries of politics and such.

Sweat beaded on his forehead in the hot summer sun, only the occasional wind blowing it dry for a moment, before the process repeated. But it was a comforting rustic struggle, a good physical challenge to relax all the mental turmoil he had had to deal with lately.

Because, alone in the wild, America could think back to the days when he lived in comfortable solitude with his brother. Alone, before Europe intruded into their peaceful existence and made life complicated.

* * *

"It failed," Tyler announced months later, needlessly, for America knew. He had heard of Upshur's unexpected death, and the subsequent appointment of Calhoun to the position. He'd felt the rising agitation of his people, but had ignored it, hoping it would pass.

Because it was right for them to annex Texas, was it not? Mexico wouldn't try anything, definitely not. (He decided not to think about how, really, he knew next to nothing about his Southern neighbor or their ideals. Spain had dealt with all of Mexico's foreign affairs, having just lost control of the Nation a couple decades ago.)

But, really, Mexico had let his people settle in Texas, and had been lenient with them up until recently. Mexico couldn't be that bad of a guy…definitely not.

But that didn't stop the apprehension curled within the pit of his stomach.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Southerners were alarmed that a Texas dominated by Britain would lead to abolition of slavery. As a Southerner, Tyler sympathized with them. When Webster resigned as secretary of state in 1843, Tyler replaced him with fellow Virginian, Abel P. Upshur. He then asked Upshur to seek a treaty of annexation for Texas. The country was eager for Texas' annexation, the West, and even the North, filled with patriotic desire to obtain such a 'magnificent' piece of territory. Estimating, Upshur was connived Senate would provide the necessary two-thirds majority. He negotiated a treaty in February 1844, but before he could sign it, he was killed in an accidental explosion of a cannon on the USS **_**Princeton**_** during a weapons demonstration. **

**To continued work towards Texas' annexation, Tyler appointed John C. Calhoun as the new secretary. However, Calhoun was so closely linked with the South and slavery by this point that his appointment alienated thousands of Northerners who otherwise might have support annexation. It suddenly became a hot topic of debate. Clay and Van Buren, who seemed assured of the 1844 Whig and Democratic presidential nominations, promptly announced that they opposed annexation, simply because it might lead to war with Mexico. With an election approaching, northern and western senators refused to vote for annexation, and in June the Senate rejected the treaty, 35 to 16. **

**No longer daunted by the vastness of the West, Americans now wished to take control of the entire continent and form it into a strong nation to showcase democracy. This ideal was known as Manifest Destiny. **

**Moving west was not the romantic journey many had pictured it to be. It was very difficult, the distances further and the comforts left behind more appealing than they had been in previous generations. The new family structure consisted of "separate spheres" for men and women. Men were to work and provide for the family, and women were supposed to keep house and care for the children. This ideal was disrupted by westward movement, as women and men often had to share a lot of the same duties, child care and all. **

**Indians, while potentially dangerous, were more often complained of for being "dirty, lazy, and thieving". Women feared them more for their strangeness than their actual behavior. It was a very tiresome trip. Women often grew weary from "men's work" in addition to child-rearing along the trail. **

**California was owned by Mexico, a sparsely settled land of several thousand Spanish speaking ranchers and a few English settlers from the United States. Until the 1830s when their estates were broken up by the anticlerical Mexican government, 21 Catholic missions controlled more than 30,000 Indian converts, who they treated little better than slaves. Oregon was a vaguely defined area between California and Russian Alaska, jointly owned by the United States and Britain, was very fertile. Both of these areas were very appealing to Americans. **

"**Oregon fever" was the name given to the desire to go westward, often along the Oregon Trail which was filled with difficulties. Scores of towns and societies organized movements westward, a path especially appealing to new immigrants, but considered patriotic by American citizens as well. Each caravan became their won self governing group, with regulations democratically agreed upon. The trip was fairly expensive to make, about $600 for a family of four, no small fee at the time. The five-month trip was full of labor, discomfort, and uncertainty, a "remorseless, unending, weather scoured, nerve-rasping plod on and on and on and on, foot by aching foot. **

**But pioneers were motivated to reach their destination, Americans eager to control San Diego, San Francisco (both Mexican owned), and the Puget District (British claimed). They believed they were the key to trade with the desirable Orient. **

**I'm so tired Hope this is okay. The first part is probably noticeable better, since I wrote it out a few days ago with the previous chapter. I meant to have this up earlier, but a friend invited me over last minute, and I spent the day there. Anyway…'tis late…or early. Going to go sleep. **


	50. Chapter 50

"You're trying again?" America questioned, sitting with his hand folded beneath him, like he used to as a child to keep himself from fidgeting when England was in a bad mood. He was nervous, there was no denying it. Public sentiment had swung back towards annexation, but the thought made his stomach churn.

"It's joint resolution this time," Tyler justified, feverously scribbling away at the document, running his free hand through his thinning hair. He looked worn, stressed and overworked, but the determination was clear in his expression, over-powering the rest. "It will work this time. Polk will continue on with this, I'm positive. It will work it…"

"I'm sure it will," America got to his feet, moving to stand next to Tyler. In a moment of sympathy, he placed his hand on top of the man's, gently prying the pen from his grasp. "But it's late, and you're tired. You can finish this in the morning, and Polk supports the cause…there's no reason to rush."

"You're right," Tyler breathed, leaning back against his chair, eyelids falling shut a few times in short succession, a little longer each time, before he rubbed at them, willing himself to stay awake.

"Here," America held out a hand to help the older man to his feet, smiling as he thought back to Washington's final days in office. Tyler was no Washington, but he was likable enough, and America was going to miss him.

"Goodnight," Tyler bid with a tired smile, before moving of towards his bedroom.

"Goodnight," America returned, watching his figure fade into the darkness.

* * *

"How do they feel?" Polk asked, observing his Nation's reaction carefully, almost critically.

"Fine," America answered, almost as a question, surprised. They were perfectly clear now, despite still feeling odd on his nose, a new weight however slight.

The corners of Polk's mouth quirked upwards into a pleased smile. "Perfect! They look good on you as well, if I may say so myself."

"Thanks," America grinned, though a bit awkwardly, as Polk continued to watch him. "Can I take these off now?"

"Do you want to?" Polk returned quizzically, the surprise in his voice catching America off guard.

"Yeah, I mean…I don't need glasses," he returned lamely, taking the spectacles off to examine them.

"I'm not going to force you," was all Polk said, before returning to his paperwork.

Sighing, America sat down with the glasses, putting them on and taking them off, repeating the process. It didn't look all that different, either way. It was troublesome to wear glasses…_heroes_ didn't wear glasses.

And so he tucked them into his pocket, to be contemplated later.

* * *

"He'll accept the 49th parallel," America announced to England, watching the Brit's face for the expression he knew would come.

"_He'll_ accept it?" England frowned, predictably, looking the epitome of offended. "_I_ won't accept it…not at all." His minister nodded approvingly from where he stood on the peripheral, most likely unnoticed by the Brit—he had a habit of being more polite around his people.

"Come on, Iggy," America cajoled. "He wanted all of Oregon…he's being nice to let you keep a bit."

"_Let me_ keep a bit?" England's grimace deepened. "It's jointly owned between us…he doesn't have the right to _let me keep_ anything."

"Oh, Iggy, don't be like that," America continued, wishing his former caretaker would be more accepting of the proposal; Polk wasn't going to be pleased.

"No, I'll behave however I want," England responded, his petulancy reminding America of his own behavior prior to the Revolution with a start, and how hypocritical it was of the older Nation to act in such a way. "And stop calling me Iggy!"

"England, I—"

But the European was out of the room before he could finish his sentence.

* * *

"Let him know," Polk began, shortly after America's return from his failed negotiation, "that we intend to end the joint occupation. This should scare them out of their smugness, as their position is indefensible. But if they try to negotiate, listen. We don't need to make an enemy of Britain."

"Sounds like a plan," America agreed, smiling. This plan would definitely work, if he knew anything about the older Nation.

And sure enough it did, when England and his foreign secretary asked to meet up shortly after he got word of the United States' new stand.

"We will agree to the 49th parallel," Aberdeen relented as soon as the discussion began, glancing back at England as if to make sure the Nation wasn't about to object. He looked about ready to, not happy in the least, but the European knew better than to go against his people's wishes, no matter his pride.

"That's great!" grinning earnestly, the young Nation glanced over to England, who seemed preoccupied with glowering at a harmless potted plant. He got to his feet, leaving his negotiator to discuss the details.

"England, I—" America began, only to be cut off by a glare.

"Stuff it, git," was all England would say in return, before continuing his destruction of the innocent plant via staring contest. He stiffened when the younger Nation chuckled a few times, cheeks coloring.

_Iggy is so easy to tease_, America mused to himself. _And I wouldn't have it any other way._

_

* * *

_

**Historical Notes: In the Election of 1844, the Whigs unanimously nominated Clay, ignoring Texas in their party platform. Van Buren seemed to have the Democratic nomination in his pocket, also wanting to keep Texas out of the campaign. However, Calhoun wouldn't stand for this. Many of the southern Democratic delegates were pro-annexation, and with the help of some northern expansionists, the Southerners passed a rule requiring that the choice of candidate be by a 2/3 majority, which Van Buren could not muster. But "dark horse" James K. Polk, a good pro-annexation Jacksonian, won the nomination. Silas Wright was originally chosen as the five-presidential candidate, to mollify the Van Burenites, but he was close friends with Van Buren, and refused to run when he was notified of the presidential nomination. Instead, George M. Dallas, who supported annexation, was chosen as Polk's vice-president. The Democratic platform demanded that Texas be "reannexed"—implying that it had been part of the Louisiana Purchase—and that all of Oregon be "reoccupied"—suggesting that the joint occupation of the region with Great Britain agreed to in the Convention of 1818 would be put to an end. **

**Texas was now part of the campaign. Clay, sensing the new expansionist sentiment, hedged on his opposition to annexation, though this lost him about as many votes as it gained. The election was extremely close. The Liberty party was an antislavery group organized in 1840, with presidential candidate James G. Birney. He had few supporters, but most of the lived in New York, taking valuable votes away from Clay. If Clay had won New York, he would have won 141 to 134. But as it was, Polk won New York and the presidential election, 170 to 105. Tyler promptly called on Congress to annex Texas by joint resolution, which would avoid the necessity of obtaining a 2/3 majority in the Senate; this was done a few days before Tyler left the White House. Under the resolution, if Texas agreed to annexation, as many as four new states might be carved from its territory. Polk accepted this, and in December 1845, Texas became a state.**

**Polk was tense and calculating, but strong-willed and hardworking. He was very successful in his endeavors as president, able to have the tariff of 1842 lowered, restore the independent treasury, as well as oppose internal improvement and get his way. He also gained part of Oregon. In his inaugural address, he informed the British minister in Washington, Richard Pakenham, that he would accept a boundary following the 49****th**** parallel to the Pacific, which Pakenham flatly refused, without even submitting it to London. When Congress met in December 1845, Polk asked for the authority to give the necessary one year's notice for annulling the 1818 treaty of joint occupation. Congress complied, and in May 1846, Polk notified Britain that he intended to end the joint occupation.**

**Officials of the British Hudson Bay Company had been alarmed at the rapid growth of the American settlement in Willamette Valley, 5000 Americans by 1845, to the 750 British subjects. The company decided to shift its head quarters from the Columbia to Vancouver Island, as British experts declared that "the Oregon country could not possibly be defended in case of war". When Polk hinted he'd still be willing to compromise, British foreign secretary, Lord Aberdeen, leapt at the chance and suggested the same (rejected) proposal of the 49****th**** parallel. Polk agreed. The treaty followed that line from the Rockies to Puget Sound, excluding Vancouver Island (below the line) which was left entirely to the British, so that both nations retained free use of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Although some northern Democrats accused Polk of treachery because he failed to fight for all of Oregon, the treaty was in such accordance with national interest that Senate approved it by a large majority in June 1846. **

**Would've had this up yesterday, but I got sucked into the distraction known as TV Tropes. Hope you like the chapter ^^ I had fun with this one. The Mexican-American War should start moving next chapter. **


	51. Chapter 51

"I take it you've been aware of the hostilities regarding Texas?" Polk began, his back to America as he gazed out the window.

The young Nation nodded, before realizing Polk couldn't see him. "Yes, sir," he responded instead. "I spoke with Taylor before he left. He—"

"I know what he was sent to do," Polk interrupted, turning now, expression stern, arms folded neatly behind his back. "I am the one who issued him down to protect the border in the first place. What I want for you to do is to accompany Slidell. I'm sending him to negotiate with Mexico. If I am to believe you, Mexico should have a personification, as we have you. I want you to persuade it."

"_Him_," America corrected, not liking the detached way his president was addressing the whole matter.

"Am I clear?" Polk intoned, ignoring the young Nation's remark.

"Yes, sir." Without a moment's hesitation, he left the room, eager to get away from Polk and onto his meeting with Slidell.

* * *

"They refuse to meet with us," Slidell informed America when he returned. The two had been in Mexico for months now, but the government was in turmoil, and only recently had they gotten a chance to speak with anyone.

"They _can't_," America frowned, dismayed. He himself hadn't had much luck, either, on finding Mexico. It was difficult enough trying to find a Nation, as they were often like any other person from afar and only detectable when in the close vicinity of one. But not even knowing what Mexico looked like, it was near impossible.

"We should head back," Slidell responded, shaking his head wistfully. "We aren't going to make any headway."

"We can't just give up," America remarked, appalled at the concept. "We have to keep trying…they have to at least talk with us."

"Polk wants us to go back," Slidell voiced, after a quiet stretch filled only by the clamor of people on the street outside. "I'm sorry, America, but I really don't think there's any more to be done. He sent word to Taylor to make a move, to cross the border…we need to get out of here before that happens."

"But I don't want to fight, we have to—"

"America, I'm sorry," was all Slidell would say in response, placing his hands on the Nation's shoulders.

They left for Washington the following morning.

* * *

"War exists," Polk replied flatly, when America voiced his concern at their next meeting. "Congress has already agreed to increase our troops."

"But, sir, I—"

"As your president," Polk cut in harshly, eyes narrowed. "I order you back on your way to Texas before nightfall. You said you can't be killed, correct? At least by no ordinary means. That makes you ideal for the battlefront—you can convey messages from officer to officer, or keep information for them if they fall…"

"Sir, I don't think you understand," America began again, bristling with indignation by this point. "I'm willing to do anything for my country, for my people, of course, but I don't think—"

"Exactly," Polk interrupted, expression remaining cold with just the right amount of scorn and disapproval to make America's temper flare. "Leave the thinking to me. You just get your pretty little face down to Texas. Right now. That is an order, and I better not hear of any funny business."

"Yes, _sir_," America gritted out between clenched teeth, not bothering to disguise the sneer that crept into his voice at the last word.

He had never been so eager to leave Washington.

* * *

**Historical Notes: One reason for the success of the Oregon compromise was that America was already fighting with Mexico, and wanted no trouble with Britain. Also, Americans wanted to expand, and were confident in their overwhelming advantages of size and wealth. So when Mexico defaulted on some debts to the US, many began to suggest America take it by force. **

**Mexico had never recognized the independence of Texas. When the United States annexed Texas, Mexico broke off diplomatic relations with America. Polk then ordered General Zachary Taylor into Texas in order to defend the border. However, where exactly the border lay was an issue. Mexico believed the border was the Nueces River, Texas believed it was the Rio Grande. Taylor reached the Nueces River in July 1845 with about 1500 troops and crossed into disputed territory. He stopped on the southern bank at Corpus Christi, not wanting to provoke the Mexicans by continuing to march on to Rio Grande.**

**In November, Polk sent John Slidell on a "secret mission" to try and obtain the disputed territory throguh negotiation. He authorized Slidell to cancel Mexico's debt in return for recognition of Texas' annexation, and acceptance of the Rio Grande boundary. Also, he empowered Slidell to offer up to $30 million for all or part of new Mexico and California. The area Polk wanted lay in the path of American expansion, and was likely to be engulfed much as Texas had been, without regard for the actions of the Mexican, or even American, governments. But the Mexican government refused to so much as see Slidell. **

**In a wave of anti-American sentiment, a military coup occurred, General Mariano Paredes overthrowing Santa Anna, and becoming the new head of state. He promptly reaffirmed his country's claim to all of Texas, and Slidell returned to Washington, convinced the Mexicans would not relent without military intervention. **

**Polk had already ordered Taylor to move on to the Rio Grande. By late March 1846 the army, at about 4000 now, was near the Mexican town of Matamoras. On April 25, the Mexicans crossed the river and attacked an American mounted patrol. They were easily driven back, but when news of the fighting reached Washington, Polk asked Congress to declare war. "War exists" he told Congress. They accepted this reasoning and without actually declaring war, voted to raise and supply and additional 50,000 troops.**

**From the first battle, the Americans did well. At Palo Alto, north of the Rio Grande, 2300 Americans scattered a Mexican force more than twice their number. Then, pursing them, 1700 Americans routed 7500 Mexicans at Resaca de la Palma. Less than 50 Americans lost their lives in these battles, while Mexican losses in killed, wounded, and captured exceeded 1000. Within a week of the start of hostilities, the Mexicans had been driven back across the Rio Grande and General Taylor had his troops firmly established on the Southern bank. **

**The Mexican army was poorly equipped, and despite a multitude of high-ranking officers, poorly led. The well-supplied American forces had youthful forces, eager to make their reputations and regulars trained in Indian warfare to provide the necessary leadership to the volunteers. But Mexico was a large, rugged country with few decent roads; its defeat would not be quite so easy. **

**Polk's meanness in this chapter…I don't know. I wasn't too fond of him, but this was more than I anticipated. Let me know if I need to tone it down.**

**I wrote a bunch of story…but it just got way too long, so I split it. And I wanted to get something up for you guys. I will proofread it in the morning. Would've had this up yesterday, but I tripped…on my finger, and had to keep it iced. It's better today, and I'm a hunt-and-peck typer anyway…and it's not one of my necessary fingers.**

**Also, 300 reviews coming up ^^ Gift fic for the lucky 300****th****. Same rules as have been. Hetalia related…if you already got a fic, you can't get another. **


	52. Chapter 52

America let his head loll back, enjoying the feel of the sunshine on his skin. His initial acrimony to the conflict had dulled, the open skies and fresh air doing away with the worst of his resent towards Polk and his behavior. And then he had joined in with the fighting. Warfare, while bitter, was enough to drive the thoughts out of anyone's mind. And Taylor was a pleasant guy, honest and truly concerned for his soldiers, not to mention dedicated to his position. It was his life, and his soldiers listened to him out of respect and love, not fear. If only all generals could be like this.

Polk had written extensive notes to them, detailing his plans for conquering Mexico. Three-steps, simple and clear. Hopefully effective.

But still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right about this. The hunch was only cemented days later when they arrived at Buena Vista.

This time around, the Mexican soldiers well outnumbered the American. Three to one, Taylor told him. As he readied the troops, issuing orders that were carried out without question, America gathered his surroundings. Every battle thus far he had looked for Mexico. But in the chaos of war, it was difficult. The presence of another Nation was striking, but while fighting even the most obvious details could be missed.

The first gun shots rang out, and the mêlée began in earnest. Shouts sounded in accompaniment, the thud of feet on packed dirt. America joined in, ever vigilant for that familiar sense of being that only fellow Nation's emitted. Ducking, sprinting, Taylor's voice a reassuring volley of commands in the background. Twice he was almost hit, the bullets grazing his arms, barely touching.

And so it continued on, at once monotonous and thrilling, terrible and exciting, as battle always was. Taylor found him awhile in, shouting something at him over the noise. "Santa Anna" was all he got. The former president of Mexico. Was he here somewhere amid this chaos? America wished he had paid more attention to the briefing before hand, but he had been too exasperated by Polk's newest letter to do so.

_He wants a small war_, America mused to himself, continuing to fight as Taylor returned to issuing orders, the momentary lapse not fazing him in the least. _Just large enough to require a treaty of peace, and not large enough to make military reputations dangerous to his stupid presidency. _Was that all Polk cared about? Himself, bettering his chances of reelection? It seemed to be the case, with the way he was going on.

It was then that America felt something. That familiar presence, the very feeling that had alerted Spain all those years ago to what he really was. A Nation was nearby. Quickly America glanced about, his eyes not finding anyone of significance. Or so he thought, until his eyes landed on something odd. Something extremely odd, and very out of place amid the fighting.

_A girl_. She was dressed in military garb, her long dark hair pulled severely back into a pony tail, but her gender was unmistakable. _What in the world…?_

And it was _her_, he realized with a jolt. She was Mexico, Mexico was a _girl_. All this time he had been fighting _a girl_. Suddenly, the fighting felt all the more wrong, the justifications all the more fabricated.

When Taylor commented later, after it was all over, on the reason for his foul mood, America didn't know what to tell him. We've been fighting a girl. A girl…heroes don't fight girls.

Instead he made up a lame excuse about a stomach ache, and went to bed earlier. The sleep might just do him some good.

* * *

"It's wrong," Thoreau explained between measured bites. It had just so happened that he was at Emerson's this time around, taking a break from his self-imposed exile. "Attacking a weaker Nation…for what? Greed, wealth, slavery expansion…it's _vile_." He spat the last sentence, striking a chord further in the young Nation.

"I know," he replied lamely, feeling the sickness in his stomach coil all over again. Taylor had been more understanding than he could hope, promising not to tell Polk that he was leaving for a little while. 'Clearing his head', Taylor had called it, with a knowing smile. "But we need to finish what we started, I suppose. That doesn't make me like the idea any more."

"Tough spot, my friend," Thoreau sympathized.

Emerson watched the two carefully for a moment, before adding his input. "One must do what they must. And if you are to be understood, you aren't in full control of your actions. How bizarre a notion."

"I…" America caught a lump in his throat, moving past it. "I like to think that's not the case. But England…everyone really, has said so. And I'm starting to believe them."

"There's always a way to act on your own," Thoreau assured. "Don't let it get to you. You are your people, of course, but foremost, you are _yourself_."

Their words stuck in the young Nation's mind as he prepared for the long journey back to Mexico.

* * *

**Historical Notes: ****In the summer of 1846 Antonio López de Santa Anna returned from exile and quickly seized power. He put drew together an army and began to march north. When Taylor heard of this, he drew back from Agua Nueva, where he was stationed, to the mountain pass Buena Vista. Santa Anna arrived at Agua Nueva, his troops exhausted from the long march there, and, perceiving the withdrawal to Buena Vista as a retreat, asked for a surrender. The American forces refused, and so came the battle. Once, again, the Americans defeated the much larger force, three times larger than their own.**

**Polk was afraid that military leaders would use their success in the war to win in the nearing 1848 election, like Jackson had done. Because of this, he allowed party considerations to control his choice of generals. Unfortunately for Polk, both Taylor and Winfield Scott, the commanding officer in Washington, were Whigs. But Taylor had dedicated his life to the military, and commanded his men by their love and respect. He had no political ambitions, and cared little for politics in general. Opposition to the Mexican War grew in the North. Many Northerners feared that the war would result in the expansion of slavery. Others felt Polk had misled Congress about the original outbreak of fighting and that the United States was actually the aggressor. **

**Polk, a decent military planner, came up with a three part plan for success. First, clear the Mexicans out of Texas and occupy Northern Mexico, then take New Mexico and California, and finally march on Mexico City. Proceeding west from the Rio Grande, Taylor quickly overran Mexico's Northern provinces. In June 1846, American settlers in the Sacramento Valley seized Sonoma and raised the Bear Flag of the Republic of California. Another group, lead by Captain John C. Fremont—leader of an American exploring part that happened to be in the area—fought Mexican authorities around Monterey, California, and then joined with the Sonoma rebels. A naval squadron under Commodore John D. Sloat captured Monterey and San Francisco in July 1846, and a group of cavalry joined the other American units in clearing out the areas around San Diego and Los Angeles. By February 1847, the United States had won control of nearly all of Mexico north of the capital city. **

**At this time period, America was in the age of romanticism. Romantics believed change and growth were the essence of life. They valued feelings and intuition over facts and pure thought, a counter product to the previous Age of Reason. The romantic concepts also fit with Jackson's ideals, and his lack of emphasis on education and science.**

**The transcendentalists were a branch of the romantics. Romantic in nature, they believed humans had no boundaries and could only fail from lack of trying. Literally, it means "to go beyond the world of the senses". Emerson was the leading transcendentalist thinker. He made a living as a traveling lecturer, and was against industrialization, urging Americans away form the ways of "corrupt" Europe. He was very individualistic, but too idealistic to accept compromises. He disliked powerful governments. **

**Thoreau was much of a pupil to Emerson, sharing much of his ideas. He built a cabin in the woods at Walden pond to prove that man did not need civilization, though he did stop by at Emerson's house—he had built the cabin on Emerson's land—for a good meal and company now and again. He wrote the book Walden, about his experiences on his own. He was also very against the Mexican-American war, saying it was unjust because it would extent slavery. When he refused to pay taxes to support the war, he was jailed, if only for a night as his aunt bailed him out.**

**America is sexist...because it's accurate. I apologize if it offends anyone. **

**Happy Birthday to the Italies ^^ I wrote a short story from Thoreau's point of view for English awhile ago, that America sprang into. I uploaded it earlier today if anyone wants to check it out.**


	53. Chapter 53

"What did I miss?" America questioned, on his return to Taylor. It had taken awhile to locate the man, unable to make use of government informational sources on the off chance they might tell Polk he'd been MIA for the past several months. But he had finally reached him, though his sentiment on the war had changed little since his departure.

"We've secured the Northern parts of Mexico, as you've probably heard. They've sent Mr. Scott down to take on Mexico City, and I hear he's nearing it by the day. A good deal of my men are with him." Taylor explained, a smile on his face. "It shouldn't be too long now before this whole mess is over with. How was your trip?"

"Good," America answered, sighing to himself. "It didn't changed my opinion on the war much."

"Why is it so troubling to you all of a sudden?" Taylor inquired, curious. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"No, it's just…" America hesitated, mentally gauging how Taylor would react. "You know how I'm America? Mexico is…Mexico is a _girl_. And it doesn't feel right to be fighting a woman. It's not something any good man should do."

Taylor looked off to the side for a moment, contemplating this new information. "Well," he began once his thoughts were in order. "For a girl, she's put up a hell of a fight, if you'll excuse my language. She sure can handle herself."

"Yeah," America agreed with a wry smile. "That's true, isn't it?" But his voice lacked enthusiasm.

"It's war, kid," Taylor clapped him on the shoulder comfortingly. "Sometimes, it doesn't turn out fair. But I fight for my country, to keep all the women and children safe. And I utilize my men to the best of my ability to keep as many safe as I can. You've just got to do the best you can in circumstances."

America thought for a moment, before a genuine grin came to his face. "Thanks, Mr. Taylor. That really means a lot."

"Don't mention it, _Mr. America_," Taylor replied, jokingly. "I thought I asked you to call me Zack."

The smile on the young Nation's face widened. "If you'll call me Alfred."

"Alfred?" Taylor replied, confused.

"That's my…human name," he responded after awhile, his content expression hardly faltering with the pause. "Thanks for the advice. I'm going to head down to Mexico City, and see what I can do. I don't want to fight…but there has to be some way I can help."

"Good luck!" Taylor shook the young Nation's hand once more, before he gathered together some basic supplies, and set off again. This time, into the heart of the fray.

* * *

Upon arrival, America found himself caught up in the skirmishes around the city. The Americans seemed to be winning, as usual, but there were still causalities on both sides, corpses scattered here and there. He'd decided to try and find Mexico, and see if he couldn't settle something with her. From what he'd heard, the constant battles were starting to take their toll on her troops and government.

Not much later, a lull came over the fighting, both sides retreating to refuge, dragging their injured with them. America tried not to look at all the Mexicans, lying face down in the soil. So many more than their own…and the prisoners being carried away.

Scott caught sight of him, as the young Nation was wandering aimlessly through the field, and grabbed his wrist to catch his attention. Startled, America jumped and nearly smacked the man in the face, thinking him an enemy.

"Watch it," was Scott's reply, expression remaining composed as he updated America on the ongoing events. "We've nearly gotten them now, but they just won't surrender. President Polk sent over a negotiator…he's back at the camp if you'd like to talk to him. He's to try and make a treaty with the Mexicans as soon as this city falls."

America was confused by the hint of distaste he detected in the man's voice at the mention of the commissioner. "I'd like to see him, if that's all right with you. I'd like to be of some help in the negotiations, so it would be good to get to know him."

"Suit yourself," was all Scott said, in a well-mannered tone, leading America to the man with stiffly polite small talk, none of which America paid much attention to.

"There you go," he said, when they finally reached the tent that seemed to be serving as the center of command. Scott ducked his head inside, after allowing America in first, conveying a brief synopsis of the current state of battle affairs, before moving off quickly, as if pleased to be out of there.

Trist was a decent man, pleasant enough. America could not figure out why Scott seemed to dislike him. After explaining to him how matters had progressed thus far—a series of events the blond was now beginning to be familiar with—he had asked him a few questions, about his experiences with Taylor the past few months. America answered him vaguely, drawing on the smatterings of knowledge he'd been told on the period of his absence.

Much to his surprise, it had satisfied the man, who eventually excused himself on account of feeling ill. America, at Trist's suggestion, also decided to rest awhile. The war might be almost over, but he had a feeling the final steps wouldn't be so easy to accomplish.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Fearing Taylor's growing popularity, Polk placed General Winfield Scott in charge of the campaign against Mexico City, what would be the most difficult part of the war. Polk tried to get Congress to make Thomas Hart Benton a lieutenant general, merely to have a Democrat in a level of control, but the Senate was smart enough to decline this proposal. There was no doubt of Scott's competence, but he was probably more of a threat to the Democrats than Taylor, because he had political ambitions as well as military ability. Nearly 6 ½ feet tall, he had a commanding presence, intelligent, even-tempered, and cultivated, if somewhat pompous. He was responsible for most of the army's improvements since the War of 1812. **

**Scott landed his army south of Veracruz, Mexico. On March 9, 1847, he laid siege to the city, and obtained it's surrender in less than three weeks losing only a few of his 10,000 men. He proceeded Westward, maintaining effective discipline. When he was blocked at Cerro Gordo by a large army and well-placed artillery, he outflanked the Mexican position and stormed it, capturing more than 3,000 prisoners and much equipment. By mid-May, he had reached Puebla, only 80 miles southeast of Mexico City.**

**After delaying until August for reinforcements, he pressed on, winning two hard-fought victories at the outskirts of the capital, and on September 14, he hammered his way into the city. In every battle, the American troops were outnumbered, but they always came away with far less damage than the Mexicans. In the fighting on the edge of Mexico City, for example, the Americans lost about 1000. The Mexicans put up a valiant fight, 4,000 being hurt or killed, and another 3,000 taken prisoner. **

**As soon as the news of the capture of Veracruz reached Washington, Polk sent Nicholas P. Trist, chief clerk of the State Department, to accompany Scott's army and to act as peace commissioner after the fall of Mexico City. Trist was a Democrat, the husband of Thomas Jefferson's granddaughter, and secretary to Andrew Jackson for awhile. A long period as United States diplomat at Havana had given him excellent Spanish speaking skills. **

**He joined Scott at Veracruz in May. The two disliked each other right off. Scott considered it a "personal dishonor" to be asked to defer to what he considered a "State Department flunky" and his feelings weren't improved when Trist sent him an officious 30-page letter discussing the nature of his assignment. Scott was eager to end the war, however, and realized quarreling with the president's emissary would not help him do so. When Trist fell ill, Scott sent him a far of guava marmalade, and after that they became good friends. Interesting little fun fact there.**

**Taylor was on good terms with his men. They called him "Old Rough and Ready" and even "Zack", short for Zachary.**

**Next chapter should finish up with this war and the treaty, and possibly move on to a little past the matter. I have a test later this week, that I have to do good on (since I botched the last one) so we'll see when the next update comes. Hope this one came out all right ^^ Don't have a chance to proofread it. **

just another fma fan**: I'm glad you think Mexico has fit well ^^ that's what I was going for. And you checked out my other story, too! Glad you like those two. Thank you very much for the review.**


	54. Chapter 54

"We're almost there," Scott relayed to America the next morning. The previous day had been another battle, fighting always more fighting. They'd managed to push the Mexicans back to Churubusco, a mere 5 miles from Mexico City. Today they'd continue the battle—hopefully to end in success—and from there on they would be able to march directly to the city itself.

America hadn't wanted to fight. He had insisted on it vehemently, offering to help out the wounded instead, only carrying a gun with him for protection on Scott's insistence. And so he had passed the previous day.

However, this battle went differently. The _San Patricios_ were there—the deserters, Scott called them, with contempt in his voice. They fought valiantly, sustaining heavy losses, along with their Mexican allies. It was an intense battle, a last stand to protect the city from the invaders.

At some point the lines had blurred for America, self defense turned to attacking. It had been unbearable, watching Mexico fight alongside her troops, helping them to defeat the enemy, while he hung back like a coward. He told himself he _was_ helping, tending to the wounded as best he could in the midst of battle, dragging the injured out of the fray if need be.

But it wasn't the same. And so he went back on his decision, and fought once more with his troops. Several times he had come close to Mexico, close enough to see the look in her dark eyes. Fierce, determined—and full of hate as they settled on him. America could feel the intensity of her glare, the strength behind it, and was at once taken aback and spurred onwards by it. Maybe she was a girl, but she was unlike the women he was familiar with. She had the strength to fight him, and so he would fight her. For her own sake, to put this to an end, he told himself.

Because he recognized in her eyes a familiar sentiment. He saw his Revolutionary self within her, the same passion and will to persevere. And it was for this reason he knew she would not give up. She would fight until the very end.

* * *

After suffering a defeat at Churubusco, Santa Anna had retreated back into the heart of Mexico, a final defense attempt. More fighting, chaos, death. Scott wanted the war over with, and America was with him on that, as were most involved. And slowly, the Mexicans, battle worn and tiring of the fight, backed down, leaving the city in disarray.

"President Polk called me back," Trist announced, obvious unease in his expression.

"You can't leave now," America frowned, shaking his head. "The fighting's over, and we need to settle this. We've just started working with the peace commissioners."

"I know," Trist sighed, letting his eyes fall shut briefly. "If I go back now, we might lose the opportunity to make any sort of agreement. This government is disintegrating."

"Yes," agreed Scott, determination in his voice. "We need to act now or never. The president will just have to wait."

"It still doesn't feel right," Trist glanced away, off into the distance—back towards the White House, maybe? But then he changed direction, with a new confidence. "We need to do this. Polk won't be happy, but it's the only way."

"_One must do what they must."_

"America, if you wouldn't mind," Trist began, turning back to the young Nation. "Would you mind finding, ah…Mexico, and discussing this with her? I've got to send word to Polk of my…declination. And I have a feeling the negotiations might not reach her properly."

"Of course," America complied, going to look for the other Nation.

* * *

"Mexico, please, listen to me," America urged, not flinching as she continued to glower at him. "We need to settle this for your own good. Your government is falling apart, and if we can't settle this—"

"_No_," Mexico returned, the anger clear in her tone, even if the words were not. "_No permitire _usted_ engañarme. ¡No!_"

"I, uh…" America desperately wracked his brain, trying to make sense of her words and recall the sparse amounts of Spanish he had learned from Spain. "No…engage. You won't let me engage you. I'm not planning on fighting you; I want to make a truce."

"_No, no comprende_," She continued, frowning, as she started to move away.

"Wait, I just…" he grabbed her wrist, only to be hit in the face.

"_¡Para!_" she shouted, yanking at her arm. Alarmed, America released her.

"You…not welcome here," she said at last, in broken English. "I want…nothing with you. Go!" And with that she left, expertly winding off into the mess of streets.

America sighed to himself, disappointed. That could've gone a lot better. Disheartened, he made his way back to Trist and Scott, hoping the governmental negotiations would work out better.

* * *

**Historical Notes: The San Patricios (Saint Patrick's Battalion) were a group of Irish, German, and other immigrants that, fed up with their treatment and unsure about fighting a Catholic country, deserted Taylor's men to join forces with the Mexicans. Each San Patricio who deserted from the US side was jailed after the war in Mexico and given an individual court-martial trial. Some of the Irish were set free, but roughly half of the San Patricio defectors who were executed by the US for desertion were Irish. There are ceremonies held in Mexico twice a year, on September 12 which is the anniversary of the executions, and on Saint Patrick's Day. **

**The ****Battle of Churubusco**** took place on August 20, 1847, the day after the ****Battle of Contreras (Padierna)****. After defeating the Mexican army at ****Churubusco****, the ****U.S. Army**** was only 5 miles away from ****Mexico City****. The San Patricios played a big role in this battle, suffering heavy losses. They knew they would likely face death once the war was over, and so they fought with extra passion. **** The Battle of Churubusco was considered the Waterloo of the Mexican-American War, the last major fight. **

**After the battle, Santa Anna's largely intact force retreated to Mexico City, where a number of different skirmishes took place. ****Stragglers from the Mexican army left in the city after Santa Anna's withdrawal climbed to the roofs of houses and began shooting at the American soldiers. Before he evacuated, Santa Anna released 30,000 prisoners into the streets of the city, and these rooftop shots provoked the prisoners into similar acts.**

**Because of the confusion following the fall of Mexico City, Trist was unable to start negotiations with the Mexican peace commissioners until January 1848. Polk, unable to understand the delay and impatient, revised his plans. Originally he had planned to pay $30 million for New Mexico, Upper and Lower California, and the right of transit across Mexico's narrow isthmus of Tehautepee. Now, realizing the disorder of Mexican affairs, he contemplated demanding more territory and paying less of it. He summoned Trist home. **

**Trist, with Scott's support, ignored the order, realizing that unless a treaty was arranged soon, the Mexican government might disintegrate, leaving no one in authority to sign a treaty. He sent a 65-page letter to the president, about his refusal to return, and started negotiations. Early in February the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was completed. By its terms Mexico accepted the Rio Grande as the boundary of Texas and ceded New Mexico and Upper California to the United States. In return, the United States agreed to pay Mexico $15 million and deal with the claims of American citizens against Mexico, which accounted to $3.5 million by that time.**

**Translations:**

No permitire _usted_ engañarme. ¡No!: **I won't allow you to trick me. No!**

No, no comprende: **No, you don't understand.**

¡Para!**: Stop! (except for this one, due to her anger/panic, Mexico uses the formal form of 'you' with America, in a mocking way, methinks. I wasn't sure what form to have her use ' Let me know if I botched this all up)**

**I think I might be coming down with something (my head/throat feel strange), and I have a History exam Friday I need to do well on. Also, I have an epic amount of History notes on World War II to do over the weekend…so I don't know how updates would be. But I wanted to get this up for you today. I hope it's not too bad…no proofreading whatsoever + sickness = screwups. I'll look it over in the morning.**

**Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone ^^**


	55. Chapter 55

The trip back to Washington was quiet. Trist was obviously agitated, silent the whole way. "The President is furious," was all he would say when asked.

America didn't doubt that. All he could do was make vague assurances, trusting that everything would be all right. Surely Polk would be at least somewhat pleased with the Treaty, for it had secured all of his requested criteria.

On their arrival to the White House, however, America was soon proven wrong.

"We could have gotten more out of them," Polk vented, a statement, not a wonder. "I called you back, Trist, and you deliberately disobeyed orders."

"If he had come back, Mexico's government would have dissolved in his absence," America defended, a tone of equal bitterness creeping into his tone.

"Of course, you would play a part in this," Polk frowned, directing his anger towards the young Nation. Vaguely, he motioned for Trist to leave the room before he continued. "I don't know what it is that makes you think this way, but you are _not_ always right. Just because you thought it best to go ahead with negotiations does not mean you should have or had the authority to do so. I'm the leader, not you, and I expect you to respect my decisions."

"Sir," the blond grit between his teeth, hands clenching uselessly by his sides. He took a deep breath, before voicing a train of thought he never imagined he would. "As our Nation's personification, my opinion is that of the majority of our people. I reflect how the people would act in such a situation, and because of this, I think I should have at least some authority in decision making. _You_ represent your own interests and little more."

Polk bristled, "America, I won't stand for this. Stop—"

"And if you're going to blame someone for the Treaty, blame me. I convinced Trist to stay in Mexico," America continued, the words only a slight exaggeration. Trist _had _been reluctant.

"I don't like heroes," Polk responded, a condescending expression gauzing over his visage. "They're unrealistic and idealistic. Trist will pay for his mistake. He's an impudent and unqualified scoundrel…contemptibly base. I've already sent out an order for his arrest. I can't avoid submitting that damned treaty he's forced us into, but _he will pay_."

_Bastard!_ America wanted to shout. He wanted to shout all the bad words England had ever slipped up and used in his presence, all the foul terms he had heard from his years among the more crude of his people. But there seemed to be an invisible force holding him back, urging him to let it go and keep his tongue in check before he said something he would regret.

So instead, he turned away, biting his bottom lip, and retreated to his usual window post. When he heard Polk's satisfied breath, he tasted blood.

* * *

"You don't know how glad I am to see you," America smiled, when Taylor entered the office. "Though I have to say, I never marked you out for the office type."

"It wasn't my idea," Taylor admitted, a sheepish smile crossing his features. "But it's just a further extension of my duty to my country. I only want what's best for our people."

He paused for a moment, before adding, almost as an after thought: "You've got glasses."

"Yeah," the young Nation felt the lenses, as if surprised they were there. He'd taken to wearing them since the end of the conflict with Mexico, though he couldn't really put a reason behind it. They just compelled him, with that aura of their's, urged him to push them up his nose and behind his ears. "They're…Texas."

"Texas?" Taylor repeated, half-amused, half-perplexed, as if trying to guess whether America was being serious or not. When the blond did not laugh and let him in on the joke, Taylor went on a bit awkwardly. "That's…interesting. You Nations have some bizarre little quirks." A laugh and a pause. "How have you been since the War?"

"I went to California for a few months to get away from Polk," Taylor picked up on the trace of unmistakable bitterness in the blond's tone, but did not question it. "It was insane. So many people, and hardly any of them have found anything."

"It's the hope that keeps them going," Taylor sighed. "They'll be at it for awhile yet. And why not? Free gold, quick money—the answer to all their problems."

"Nothing's ever that simple," America returned the sigh.

"No," Taylor agreed. "It never is."

* * *

**Historical Notes: When Polk found out that Trist had ignored his orders, he seethed, calling him "contemptibly base" and an "impudent and unqualified scoundrel". He ordered Trist placed under arrest and had him fired from his State Department job. (Trist was retired to private life without being paid for his time in Mexico. In 1970, when he was on his deathbed, Congress finally awarded him about $14,300.) Polk had no choice but to submit the treaty, as insisting on more territory would mean more fighting, and the war was rapidly losing popularity. The fairly easy military victory made some people ashamed: America was "bullying a weaker nation". Abolitionists, led by William Lloyd Garrison, called it an "invasion…waged solely for the detestable and horrible purpose of extending and perpetuating American slavery." The Senate, under the same pressure as the president, ratified the Treaty 38 to 14. **

**The Wilmot Proviso, proposed by Democratic Congressman David Wilmot of Pennsylvania, stated that neither slavery nor any other form of involuntary servitude should exist in the new territory. Calhoun countered this with resolutions arguing that the government had no right to bar slavery from the territories, as territories belonged to the state. Neither was passed. The Senate was dominated by Southerners, and the House by Northerners. Two compromises were proposed: one plan would extend the Missouri Compromise to the new Territory (supported by Polk) and the other would let the local settlers chose, freeing Congress of the decision (supported by Senator Lewis Cass of Michigan).**

**In the Election of 1848 the Whigs ran Zachary Taylor, the Democrats ran Lewis Crass, and the Van Buren wing of the Democrats (called "barnburners" for their radicalism) joined with the antislavery Liberty Party to form the Free Soil Party, running Van Buren. Van Buren knew he would not be elected, and so he made a stand against slavery. Neither Taylor or Crass expressed strong views; when chosen to run, Taylor had flatly refused to state his opinion on any current subject. Despite the opportunity to get public opinion, sectional issues were avoided to keep votes. Between an honest, yet naïve Taylor, and a cynically opportunistic Crass, voters chose the former. Slavery was barred in Oregon, shortly before the Election. **

**The Gold Rush, started in 1848. Thousands of Americans, Mexicans, South Americans, and even Europeans rushed to Southern California, madly searching with anything on hand. Nearly all of them were men. Minorities—all but "native" white Americans—were discriminated against. Men became very violent; many were wild and greedy and began to gamble. Taylor proposed that California be admitted directly as a state and allowed to decided on slavery for itself. Californians reacted favorably, opposed to slavery because of the competition it would bring should slaves be sent to work the mines. Southerners had been sure Taylor, a southern slave and large plantation owner, would try and fight for slavery in the territories. But he was a military man and a nationalist above all else, opposed to the sectional divisions slavery debates would bring.**

**I'm sorry this took so long to get out. This weekend sort of just…died…and when I revived yesterday, I had all this school work to do. I did well on the test, for those of you interested :]**

just another fma fan**: Awwww :] I'm just glad you've kept with this story for so long. Glad you liked his Spanish…I just hope the translations are correct. And Texas…I completely forgot about him. Er…it. I don't know where him came from. But thank you very much for the luck ^^ I feel much better now. Glad you liked the chapter, and thank you for the review as well.**


	56. Chapter 56

"No," America squeezed his eyes shut, turning away from Fillmore. "I don't believe you. I just saw him a few days ago, and he was fine. There's no way he's dead."

"I'm sorry, America," Fillmore moved forward, placing a hand on the Nation's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. It was startling, how much the other was shaking.

"I didn't get to say goodbye," his voice was strained, catching in his throat on unshed tears. "He was fine…_He was fine_!"

"America, I'm sorry," Fillmore repeated, wincing when the young Nation jerked away from him. "He became very ill. They're saying it's cholera, but they don't know for certain. They tried their best. I'm sorry."

"Don't…apologize," America sniffed, scrubbing at his dry eyes. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"You're upset," Fillmore justified, keeping a respectful distance as the blond tried to calm himself. "It's understandable."

"I can't believe it," America stated numbly, moving to sit down, where he promptly brought his knees to his chest. "I _don't_ believe it…"

"I'm sorry," was all Fillmore said, before leaving America to compose himself in peace.

* * *

"_You have got what is worth more than a thousand Wilmot Provisos…You have nature on your side." ~ Henry Clay_

"_[If you will not yield] let the States…agree to separate and part in peace. If you are unwilling we should part in peace, tell us so, and we shall known what to do." ~John C. Calhoun_

"_Peaceable secession! Heaven forbid! Where is the flag of the republic to remain? Where is the eagle still to tower?" ~ Daniel Webster_

_

* * *

_

"Are you all right?" Fillmore questioned, noticing the troubled expression on his Nation's face. After their first rough meeting, things had gotten better, the Vice-president quickly easing into his new role. "The Compromise is finally settled…that should be a load off your chest. I know it is off mine."

"It is," America agreed, not looking at his president. "But all this talk of secession…it's unnerving."

"It is," Fillmore repeated, sympathetically, but not able to help the tone of interest that crept into his voice. "What would happen to you if the lower states seceded? Just out of curiosity."

America felt something grow cold inside of him. "…I don't know."

"I'm sorry," Fillmore responded, noting the panicked look to his Nation's face. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sure it wouldn't be anything too pleasant…"

"No," America couldn't help the shaking in his voice. "I'm sure it wouldn't."

"But it's all over now," Fillmore assured, putting a smile onto his face. "You shouldn't worry…the Compromise will keep that from happening. It's all over."

"You're probably right," America responded, faking a smile. Fillmore returned to his paper work, the finishing touches to the famous Compromise. And America was left alone, for his thoughts to fester as he desperately pleaded for them to vanish.

* * *

There was nothing like an adventure to get your mind off of troubles. America inhaled the salty air, smiling to himself. This was it, taking a break from all the talk of slavery and politics back at home. Already he could feel his mind going onto more pleasant matters.

But that all soon became upset when they reached Japan.

"I won't leave until you let me present this letter!" Perry fumed, the translators getting the message across.

" 'You have to go to Nagasaki'," his translator returned, biting his lip as the other man began to flush, turning to his men.

"Fire!" he shouted, and the cannons blasted at some buildings along the shore, demonstrating their potential.

"What are you doing?" America shouted, but Perry held out a hand, wordlessly telling him to stay out of it.

Perry brandished two white flags that a crew member handed to him, giving them to the Japanese. "When you're ready to surrender, raise these," were his last words.

It wasn't long before his objective was accomplished. They had superior military technology, and Perry knew it. Grudgingly, they were allowed to land and come onto the shore, to meet with the delegates present.

Among them, America immediately detected that familiar presence, the feeling of another Nation close by. He looked over the assembled Japanese, his eyes landing on a younger one, with dark hair cut in a bob about his ears, and a wary expression on his face.

Negotiations didn't last long, and the other Nation made no move to greet him, merely watching with poorly concealed fear. And America didn't blame him, after the method Perry had pursued. Shortly, their party left, promising to return for a reply.

And return they did, nearly a year later, to find the Japanese delegates had prepared a treaty covering nearly all their demands. This time, negotiations lasted slightly longer, giving America a chance to talk with this new Nation. At least, new to him.

"I think you should learn more about the world, Japan!" America encouraged, watching as the other Nation hung back, nervous and wary of this newcomer. "There are so many countries and wonderful things out there in the world. It's not bad to meet others once in awhile, you know. Since I went out into the world, everyday is exciting!"

Japan glanced up, watching the other Nation with a new curiosity. America wished he would say something, although he knew that was a futile hope. Japan hadn't spoken a word since they had arrived, apart from whispered foreign syllables in his translator's ear.

And so America continued on, telling Japan about the other Nations, and all the nice things he'd be able to see, increasingly conscious of the fact that the smaller Nation was hanging onto his every word, intrigued.

If the blond had been more observant, he would have noticed that at some point, Japan stopped conferring with his translator over every bout of foreign language spoken, but was listening to him directly, obviously understanding. But he didn't, just continuing to ramble on and on about the world outside Japan and its immediate surroundings.

When it was finally time to go, America held his hand out for a goodbye handshake. Only to have the other Nation stare at it strangely. "You give me your hand, and we shake them," America explained, proceeding to demonstrate when the other complied and lifted his arm. "Good! That's it."

Japan smiled. "_Sayonara…Amerika-san._"

"Bye!" America returned cheerfully, waving when the Japanese withdrew his hand. And so began the return trip back home.

* * *

**Historical Notes: There seems to have been much debate on the actual reasons behind Taylor's death, but it seems generally agreed upon that he died of **_**cholera morbus**_**, or **_**acute **__**gastroenteritis**_** as it is called now, on July 9****th****. Other theories believe he might have been poisoned through one of the citizen-dishes he sampled at the Independence Day celebration shortly before. You can Wikipedia him…it mentions more than my book does. His vice-president Millard Fillmore took office. Taylor was also the only president whose death in office did not follow the pattern of Tecumseh's Curse. Basically, after the Battle of Tippecanoe, it is said Tecumseh's brother, Tenskwatawa (also known as the Prophet), placed a curse on Harrison and all future presidents with the same end number of their election year. Starting with Harrison, every president elected at 20-year-intervals has either died or had an assassination attempt. **

**Clay, resigned to ever becoming president, proposed that California be directly admitted as a free state, the rest of the territory open to slavery. Also, that the government should take care of Texas's pre-annexation debts, and the slave trade should be abolished in the District of Columbia. Calhoun, too weak to speak (he died four weeks later), had his speech promoting succession delivered for him by Senator James M. Mason of Virginia. He could come up with no alternative to Clay's proposal. Webster supported Clay, not very well, as years of excessive drinking were beginning to take their toll, but he got across his message of anti-secession clearly. There was no strict division between parties, and opinions of many people were heard, not just significant figures.**

**In the Compromise of 1850 California became the 31st ****state, New Mexico and Utah became two new territories, Texas received $10 million towards its debts, and The Fugitive Slave Act of 1793 was amended to appease Southerners. A federal commission was appointed to issue warrants, assemble search groups, and compelled citizens, with threats of fines or imprisonment, to assist in the capture of fugitives. Commissioners who accused a person of being a runaway were paid more than ones who declared the person legally free. Many hoped this would be the end of the debate on slavery.**

**In 1852, Perry embarked from Norfolk, Virginia for Japan, in command of a squadron in search of a Japanese trade treaty. Aboard a black-hulled steam frigate, he ported near Edo (modern Tokyo) on July 8, 1853. Here he was met by Japanese representatives who told him to go to Nagasaki, the only port open to foreigners at the time. ****Perry refused to leave, demanding permission to hand over a letter from Fillmore, and threatening to sue force if he was denied. To show his seriousness, he had his ships attack some buildings along the coast. He sent two white flags to Japanese, telling them to hoist the flags when they were ready to surrender. The Japanese military forces could not resist Perry's modern weaponry, and were forced to let Perry come ashore to avoid further naval attacks. Perry landed at Kurihama (in modern-day Yokosuka) on July 14, 1853, and ****gave the letter to the delegates present, promising to return for a reply.**

**Perry returned in February 1854 with twice as many ships, finding that the delegates had prepared a treaty covering almost all of the demands in Fillmore's letter. Perry signed the Convention of Kanagawa on March 31, 1854 and departed. **

**Check out the Hetalia: http://community(dot)livejournal(dot) That major piece of America's dialogue in this chapter belongs to Himaruya…as do all these lovely characters I may or may not be abusing.**

**My book is EXTREMELY sketchy on the details, so I got most of this from Wikipedia. Let me know if I screwed anything up.**

**Speaking of which****, looking through my history book, and the internet, I realized I goofed up a bit last chapter. Taylor actually died before the Compromise of 1850 debate. And so I've made the appropriate adjustments, as you've probably noticed. I'm sorry ^^**


	57. Chapter 57

"England!" America greeted, smilingly brightly as he entered the room after Clayton. "How have you been?"

"Well," England replied, the usual testiness present in his voice. Gradually, the two moved away from their mediators. "And yourself?"

"Good!" the younger blond continued, unfazed by the elder's sharpness. "I've made some new friends."

"You're not referring to Mexico, are you?" England inquired, tone a mixture of disbelief and scorn. "Because that's really not the way I heard it…"

"No," America sighed, thinking back to his last encounter with the other Nation. "No, that didn't end up too well. I meant Japan."

"Japan?" England pronounced the name with an intentional lack of interest.

"Yeah…" A silence passed between the two, during which both of their attentions drifted back towards their negotiators.

"They've pretty much got this settled out, it looks like," England commented. Indeed the two men were shaking hands, smiles on both their faces.

"Yeah," America mimicked their expressions. "I'm glad that something worked out so easily for once. Joint control…"

"…demilitarized…" England finished. Another pause.

"Well, it was nice speaking with you," England got up, extending his hand courteously, although the action seemed forced, rigid.

"You too, Iggy," the younger Nation replied brightly, as if hoping his cheerfulness would, for once, rub off on the Brit, instead of initiating the usual annoyance it seemed to receive. When England left the room, trailing after Bulwer, America thought he saw a faint upturn of the older Nation's mouth. Although it always could have been wishful thinking.

* * *

"Hello!" America greeted, extending his hand to his newest president.

The older man blinked a few times, before taking the younger man's hand in his grasp, and shaking it firmly. "Hello. And I guess you would be…America?" His tone was obviously hesitant, laced with a good deal of incredulity, as if talking to one of England's unicorns.

"Yes," the young Nation replied, trying not to laugh at the man's befuddled expression. "It takes some awhile to get used to it. Those that I haven't known beforehand, anyway."

"I see," Pierce responded, smiling at the Nation as he set his things down. "It's just a little strange, talking to…my country. They would commit a person for saying something like that." He chuckled, and America joined in.

"I look forward to working with you, sir," America announced, once the laughter had dissipiated.

"As do I," Pierce responded, looking about the office, as he didn't yet have any paper work.

_So many presidents_, America thought to himself. _How many has it been already? Twelve? Thirteen? I can't even remember, they come and go so quickly. _

He glanced out of the window, his usual spot of residence in the office._ But they're each different in their own ways, each unique and memorable…_

Yet as he stood there, watching the clouds draw over the sun, he couldn't help but wonder how many more he'd be able to keep track of. How much longer he'd be able to keep his mind straight.

* * *

"_¡Hola!_" Spain greeted, the usual overly-cheerful smile on his face. America felt something inside of him grow cold, as he thought back to the meeting he had just attended with Soulé.

"Hi," he returned uncertainly, watching the Spaniard for a reaction.

"I've been hearing some funny rumors,_ chico_," he continued on, the ever present grin looking almost malevolent to America, as his heart picked up.

_He knows, he knows..._America's panicked mind repeated. _Why did they have to say it like that? _"Like what?" he said instead, chuckling slightly with nerves as he feigned innocence.

"Like…you trying to 'wrestle' Cuba away from me," he replied offhandedly. America knew Spain was weaker now, but still a shudder ran down the boy's spine as he remembered the ruthlessness that could light behind those kindly green eyes.

_'Wrest' he means, 'wrest_'...America corrected in his mind, although he said nothing aloud. Because, really, what difference did it make? The intent had been the same. "Of course not!" he laughed instead, feeling the nervous tic in his cheek, and knowing Spain could see it. America had never been much good at lying.

"_Olvídalo, chico_," Spain replied buoyantly before walking off, leaving the young Nation alone and perturbed.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Northerners often helped runaway slaves, whether raising money to free them, or helping them get to Canada. However, many individuals were afraid to act on their own, and most slaves were returned without incident. Southerners were still outraged by the interference. The Fugitive Slave act was the "main promise" of the Compromise of 1850, and it was loosely enforced on constitutionality basis. Northerners—even those who were not abolitionists—were disturbed by the sight of "harmless human beings being hustled off to a life of slavery".**

**The "Young America" spirit of Manifest destiny transferred to promoting democracy in the rest of the world, and faith in its success. Americas were enthusiastic about helping foreign liberals in their 'struggles against autocratic governments'. For example, when the Austrians crushed a rebellion in Hungary, Secretary of State Daniel Webster addressed an insulting note full of vague threats to the Austrian diplomat in Washington. Hungarian revolutionary hero Louis Kossuth visited the United States, looking for help, in 1851 and 1852; President Fillmore put the USS Mississippi at his disposal, and great crowds turned out to cheer him. Kossuth was disappointed, however, when he learned the United States had no intention of going to war to win independence for the Hungarians. **

**In 1855, a freebooter named William Walker—backed by an American company engaged in transporting migrants to California across Central America—seized control of Nicaragua and elected himself president. Two years later, he was overthrown, but he made repeated attempts to regain control until he died before a Honduran firing squad in 1860. He and another would-be dictator, "General" George W. L. Bickley—who tried to organize an expedition to conquer Mexico—showed the prevailing mood of lighthearted expansionism, adventures for their own selfish desires, despite northern accusations of them engaging in plots to get a hold of more territory for slavery. **

**The rapid development of California created a need for improved communication with the West Coat. A canal across Central America would cut weeks from the sailing time between New York and San Francisco. In 850, Secretary of State John M. Clayton and British minister to America, Henry Lytton Bulwer, created a treaty assuring that any such canal would be demilitarized and under joint control of Britain and the US. This became known as the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty. **

**In the Election of 1852, Stephen A. Douglas—a short, but powerful man, in support of popular sovereignty and expansion—was passed over as the Democratic candidate. Instead Franklin Pierce was chosen. The Whig candidate was General Winfield Scott from the Mexican War. The Whig part was falling apart, the "Cotton" Whigs alienated by northern Whigs, who were dived between the "Silver Gray" faction and the "Conscience Whigs". Pierce beat Scott with an electoral vote of 254 to 42.**

**The Caribbean gained increasing importance to the United States, the desire to obtain Cuba growing stronger. In 1854, Pierce instructed his minister to Spain, Pierre Soulé to offer $130 million for the island. Since Soulé was rather hot-headed, a conference with in Belgium with the American ministers to Great Britain and France—James Buchanan and John Y. Mason—was set up so that they could make a plan to persuade Spain. The result was the Ostend Manifesto, a confidential message to the State Department suggesting that 'if Spain refused to sell Cuba, "the great law of self-preservation" might justify "wresting" it from Spain by force'. News of ****this leaked out, Northerners outraged at the 'slaveholder's plot', and Europeans shocked. The government had to deny the policy, and any hope of obtaining Cuba or any other Caribbean territory vanished.**

**Spanish Translations**

_Olvídalo, chico_**: Forget it, boy**

**I don't know why Spain keeps coming off as so borderline evil in here ._. Maybe it has something to do with it being America-centric, but wow…**

**I know America technically made friends with Japan after the whole thing with England at the beginning…but I can bend time a little, right? I'm sure I've done it before, unintentionally, apart from that mishap last chapter. **

**On an unrelated note, I bought my tickets for Connecticon…I don't suppose any of you are going to that one? And 333 reviews...three threes :3 Auspicious, yes? **


	58. Chapter 58

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" America questioned, hesitantly, as he finished reading through the document. "This is going to violate the Missouri Compromise."

"All in the interest of democracy," Douglas assured with a self-knowing smirk.

Pierce tried to comfort him with a smile. "We're going to let the settlers choose…certainly there's no harm in that?"

America bit his lip, certain that there was quite a bit of harm in that. "The Northerners aren't going to be happy, sir. Not at all."

"Nonsense!" Douglas' expression took on some qualities of a grimace. "The past few measures have favored them, it's time to give something to the South. To keep it even. And who can argue with popular sovereignty?"

"Sir, please, I don't—" And there was that panic in him, flaring up as it had during the 1850 debates.

"America, trust me, okay?" Pierce grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. "It will all work out."

_"America, please…Just trust me on this, okay?"_

"Okay," America relented, watching as Douglas and Pierce left the room with the documents.

* * *

It was all America could do to refrain from telling his president, 'I told you so."'He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such united dislike for a measure, even if it was only in the North.

_"Well, just my people…They really aren't happy right now, with the way you're running things__…_"

"Incur any expense to enforce the law," Pierce ordered, once word of the resistance in Boston reached him.

"Isn't that a little harsh?" America cut in. "This owner of his might be a fraud…and we'd be helping him get away with it!"

"The law is the law, and we need to uphold it," was all Pierce would say, ignoring further dissent from the young Nation.

And so America had left, heading out to Boston to view the on-goings for himself. Pierce had been too preoccupied to stop him.

"Kidnappers! Kidnappers!" People were screaming as Burns was taken away. By force, Pierce's force. America could feel the dismay of his people around him, their disgust and hatred at this unfair event. But—much to his alarm—he could also feel a faint sense of satisfaction, as much as the conflicting wave of emotion covered it.

Hours later, after the crowds had moved on, following Burns along his solemn journey back to slavery, America still sat at the building's edge, numbed and lost in thought. He was over-reacting, really. It had just been a fleeting thing, a little thought…nothing to worry about. He had still been in control of his person, merely registering the opposing viewpoint. Nothing out of the usual, nothing out of the ordinary.

Or so he repeated in his head, trying again and again to convince himself it was true.

* * *

"You encouraged them!" America accused, refusing to be placated. "You should be trying to help democracy and justice…but you're just helping the pro-slavery people win. You're encouraging all this fighting…this disunity. Why?"

"America!" Pierce shouted, grabbing the young Nation by both shoulders—not hard, but firmly. "I am making it fair. The pro-slavery forces won the election, they—"

"That's not true!" America countered, pulling out of the president's hold. "They're cheating. And you shouldn't take sides. You should be working for the best of everyone, and trying to prevent all of this!"

"You and I both know that's impossible," Pierce returned, a sullen quality entering his tone before it became accusing. "In a conflict that involves you, you have to pick a side. You can't support both ends, or else you'll be torn in two when they both start fighting. Think logically."

America looked back at him blankly, frozen by a mixture of trepidation and shock. His mind began to whirl, thinking of the large scale implications…

"America, I…I'm sorry," Pierce apologized, after a stretch, realizing how deeply his words had affected the other. "I just feel like you're thinking about this too idealistically. It's not easy to stay above a conflict."

"I know," America responded, his voice catching on the way out. "But it's possible. I can do it."

"I'm sure you can," Pierce encouraged, though America could feel the emptiness behind his words. He didn't really believe them, not one bit. America wished he could say differently for himself.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Douglas wanted to make a transcontinental railroad with Chicago as the endpoint, traveling through unorganized Nebraska territory instead of through the already organized Texas and New Mexico area. He would have supported multiple railroads, very expansionist at heart, but he knew Congress wouldn't go that far. He had presidential ambitions, so between that in order to please the South, Douglas proposed using the democratic principle of popular sovereignty on the two newly made territories of Kansas and Nebraska, despite it being above the 36°30' no slave line put in place by the Missouri compromise.**

**This Kansas-Nebraska Act enraged Northerners, the biggest unanimous public reaction since the Stamp and Intolerable Acts. The Free Soiler and Whigs parties became more radical. On May 24****th****—two days after the bill was passed—Anthony Burns, a slave who had escaped from Virginia by stowing away on a ship, was arrested in Boston. Massachusetts abolitionists brought suit against Burn's former master, accusing him of false arrest. They organized a protest meeting, where they incited the gathered crowd into attacking the courthouse where Burns was being held. The mob broke into the building and a guard was killed, but federal marshals drove off the attackers. **

**Pierce ordered the Boston district attorney to "incur any expense" to enforce the law. Eventually, Burns was returned to his master, but only with the help of two companies of soldiers and 1000 police and marines to get him aboard the ship. As they marched to the ship. Buildings filled with African Americans screamed "Kidnappers! Kidnappers! Kidnappers!" at the soldiers. The total cost amounted to around $100,000 for the return of this single slave. A few months later, northern sympathizers bought Burns freedom for a few hundred dollars. **

**A new party was formed, called the "Know-Nothing" American Party. (The name came from it's origins as a secret society, for which the password was "I don't know".) It was comprised of nativists who disliked foreign immigrants and Catholics, alarming many anti-slavery Northerners. They adopted the local view of slavery wherever they were in order to preserve unity. The Republicans were not abolitionists, but against slavery in the new territories so as to secure work for whites. They contained the Free Soilers, "Conscience Whigs", and "Anti-Nebraska" Democrats. The Whig party had almost disappeared, and the Democrats were gravely weakened.**

**The land in the Kansas Territory was not surveyed and divided properly., causing confusion. Both Southerners and Northerners wanted Kansas, and the new act left it's control too open. They were meant to be left to their own devices to form a local government of their choice, but outside influence was making this impossible. There was no guideline for what sort of government they were to create, and no example to follow in absence of the Old Northwest Territory system. **

**Proslavery Missourians were the first to arrive. When word spread that "foreigners" from New England were trying to "steal" Kansas, many Missourians rushed to protect their "rights". In November 1854, an election was held in Kansas to pick a territorial delegate to Congress. A large band of Missourians crossed over to vote for a proslavery candidate and elected him easily. In March 1855 around 5000 again came into Kansas to elected a territorial legislature. A census had recorded 2905 eligible voters, but 6307votes were cast. The legislature quickly created a slave code and laws prohibiting abolitionist intervention. Anti slavery settlers refused to recognize this regime and held elections of their own. By 1856, two governments existed: one based on deception the other extralegal. **

**By denouncing the free-state government located at Topeka, Pierce encouraged proslavery settlers to assume the offensive. In May, around 800 of them plundered the antislavery town of Lawrence. John Brown, an antislavery extremist, believed five Free Soilers to have been killed in the attack. He retaliated, murdering 5 men in a settlement at Pottawatomie Creek after dragging them out of their houses in the dead of night. This accelerated into violence on both sides. Two hundred were killed by the time Brown fled in 1856. **

**A certain amount of violence was common in any frontier community, but the Republicans exaggerated the situation in Kansas to make it seem worse than it was, filling newspapers in the North with tales of the "bleeding Kansas". The Democrats were also to blame for their influence in the whole affair. But the Pierce administration was chiefly responsible. The national government was supposed to monitor elections and make sure they turned out fair for popular sovereignty. Instead, pierce had been biased. When the first governor of the territory objected to how the proslavery legislature had been elected, Pierce replaced him with a man that backed the southern group without question. **

**I'm sorry this is so late. Life has just been really busy, and I spent most of Saturday asleep because I'd been functioning on 3-4 hours of sleep per night. I'll try to have the next one up quicker. But Happy Easter to all that celebrate it ^^ That was another thing…filling eggs, hiding them around the house, and having family over for most of today. Also had a project…I digress. Hope you liked the chapter.**

malus**: Ah, Niños Héroes :[ Sad story, but brave. I saw a History Channel show on them not too long ago and I meant to include them, but somehow that didn't happen. But Alfred definitely would have been affected by that, at least to some extent, so perhaps he stayed back that day with Trist to plan out negotiations? Either way, glad you've been enjoying it thus far ^^ And as for the Civil War, you shall find out soon enough what happens to our poor Alfred. **


	59. Chapter 59

America had expected it to be another dull meeting in Congress.

He didn't always go to the meetings, only every once in awhile to make sure things were running smoothly. When Pierce brought it to his attention that things were not going smoothly—not at all—America had decided he should attend the next one. He knew they'd be having difficulties—arguments, as the rest of the country was—but he hadn't known it would be this bad.

Pierce had told him about Sumner. Bright, but arrogant and foolish. He began a tirade about the affairs in Kansas, demanding it be admitted as a free state immediately. America's ears perked up with interest. He always liked to hear the different views of his people, particularly those passionate about their topic.

But soon it moved on from denouncing the state of Kansas, to denouncing other senators. Many of the members weren't pleased. America could see it clear as day on their faces. Some began shouting insults, threats, insisting he quiet himself. But Sumner merely segued from bashing Douglas onto Butler.

America glanced around, trying to match a face to the name. An angry face, most likely, affronted. Next to him he heard Douglas mutter, "That damn fool will get himself killed by some other damn fool."

In any other circumstance, he would have chuckled at the statement, but he knew Douglas was dead serious.

He attended another session later that week, curious to see how everything would play out. The meeting itself was more or less the same: arguing, discord. It was the end of it that burned itself into America's mind.

The senators had mostly left, a few stragglers making their way home. America was just leaving the room, when another man brushed in past him.

"Pardon me," he said, making his way deeper into the room.

America thought nothing of the man. Familiar in a vague sort of way, no one the young Nation could readily recognize.

He was halfway out of the building when he heard the screams. Alarmed, he rushed back to the source of the noise, seemingly coming from the room he'd left not moments earlier.

Disbelief was his first emotion, when he returned to see the nameless man bashing Sumner over the head with a cane. Blood was already in evidence, the beaten man unresponsive as the blows continued.

"Stop!" America shouted, running up to the attacker and trying to pry the cane from his grasp. And he would have succeeded, but for a rough elbow to his ribs and a harsh shove to both shoulders. The man sprinted then, escaping as America stood helplessly, torn between staying with Sumner and pursuing the other man.

In the end he chose Sumner, kneeling to apply pressure to the wound with the edge of his shirt. He knew little about treating injuries properly, especially Human injuries, but he tried his best, waiting as others attracted by the commotion drew to the scene.

"_That damn fool will get himself killed by some other damn fool."_

America wished the meetings had stayed boring.

* * *

"What's bothering you?" Buchanan asked of the young Nation, months later.

America wasn't sure how he felt towards Buchanan yet. He was strict and firm, but capable. And that was really what mattered most for his country above all else at the moment, was it not?

"I'm fine," he replied, the fake smile stretching the corners of his mouth a mite too awkwardly.

"You're not," the other man returned bluntly, setting down his pen. "Sumner's alive and recovering…you don't need to worry about him."

"It's not him I'm worried about," America began, chewing thoughtfully on his lip as he pondered how to word his sentiment. "The whole Dred-Scott case…was it really necessary for them to go that far? To void the Missouri Compromise just…"

"Didn't the Kansas-Nebraska Act already achieve that?" was Buchanan's response. "It's their business. Perhaps they went too far. Or perhaps, as I think, they did not."

"Douglas thinks they did," America mused, as if to himself, after a moment's silence.

The rush of irritation in Buchanan was almost tangible. "Don't bring up that man," he responded shortly, turning abruptly back to his work.

Sighing to himself, America turned back to his window. This was going to be a long term.

* * *

Things seemed to move so fast lately. One moment Douglas and Buchanan had been more or less civilly discussing Lecompton and the situation in Kansas. The next, they were growing more and more irritated with each word that escaped the other's lips. It wasn't long before they were full out yelling. Screaming, as if it were the only way to make the other see any manner of sense in their point. America watched the back and forth confrontation, trying to put an end to it.

"You're biased!" Douglas shouted, fists clenched. "Popular sovereignty is meant to be decided by the people, not for you to pick and latch onto the first corrupt legislature that comes along in your interest!"

"Both of you, please, calm—" America tried to intercept, to no avail.

"This is what they want!" Buchanan returned, at an equal level, ignoring his Nation. "The Kansans created this, not me! I'm just helping them keep what they want and doing what's best for our country!"

"And how is this best for our country?" Douglas returned, viciously. "Plenty of people are against this blasted slavery. Plenty of Kansans themselves—and you know it! You know Lecompton was not decided on properly."

"The Kansans chose it, they—"

"It's fraudulent! They didn't chose, they—"

"Stop it, please!"

"You're just upset because the system you came up with was discredited in the Dred-Scott decision. That's it!" Buchanan hit his fist on the table, as if in both anger and revelation.

"I'm concerned, because you're making a mockery of the system I made, and abusing it and democracy in the process. Do not pretend you do n—"

"STOP!" America shouted, slamming both hands palm down on the president's desk. The two finally stopped, looking at him, clouded anger still clear in their expressions.

"You've got to calm down, and work this out _peacefully_," America demanded, frowning. "There's enough fighting around here already without you two going at it. Please, just…stop. I don't want any more yelling."

A long pause passed, an awkward drawn out silence between the three, during which they each collected their own thoughts.

"Mr. Douglas," Buchanan said, finally, a dangerous calm to his tone. "I desire you to remember that no Democrat ever yet differed from an Administration of his own choice without being crushed."

"Mr. President," Douglas replied contemptuously, "I wish you to remember that General Jackson is dead!" And with that said, he left the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

**History Notes: Charles Sumner was a Massachusetts senator, brilliant and a skilled orator, but a humorless abolitionist, scathing of his opposition. In "The Crime Against Kansas" he verbally attacked both Douglas and Andrew P. Butler, who was not present to defend himself. Butler's nephew, Present S. Brooks, beat Sumner with a cane two days after the speech, after a Senate meeting had adjourned. Although the damage was superficial, Sumner was too psychologically damaged by the incident to return to the Senate until 1859. Southerners were very supportive, sending Brooks souvenir canes and reelecting him as governor after his resignation from Congress. Northerners were appalled by this, taking it as proof of southern "brutality". **

**In the Election of 1856, the Republicans nominated John C. Frèmont and the Democrats nominated James Buchanan, and the "Know-Nothing" Americans nominated ex-president Fillmore. The Democrats denounced the Republicans as a sectional party threatening the Union. Buchanan won with 174 votes to Fremont's 114 and Fillmore's 8. He was politically experience, dignified and cautious, though occasionally vindictive. He was popular with and enjoyed women, but he never married. Many believed he was strong enough to steer the country to calmer waters. **

**Scott and his wife, slaves of the deceased Dr. John Emerson, vied for their freedom in court claiming that their residence in Illinois—where slavery was barred under the Northwest ordinance—and in the Wisconsin Territory—where the Missouri Compromise outlawed it—made them free. The Court ruled that, as blacks were not citizens, they could not sue in the courts, and that the Missouri Compromise was invalid and Congress had no right to regulate slavery. This, known as the Dred-Scott decision, brought into question the concept of popular sovereignty. If Congress could not control regulate slavery, how could mere territorial legislatures? Many claimed Buchanan and the fact most of the justices were proslavery Northerners and Southerners had skewed the courts against Scott. This decision convinced thousands that the South was aggressively trying to expand slavery.**

**Buchanan put Robert J. Walker—similar to Douglas in personality—in charge of Kansas as governor. When the proslavery leaders formed a constitution at Lecompton and passed it without fair vote, Walker denounced the document and ran to inform Buchanan of the situation. Instead of rejecting the Lecompton constitution, Buchanan asked Congress to authorize it. Douglas, angered, debated the issue fiercely with Buchanan. He was opposing his own party's leader, shattering the Democrats, but for the sake of not only self-interest, but principle and justice, did he defend his system. After a particularly bad argument (last two lines quoted in the story part) Buchanan began politically pressuring Douglas. In 1857, a new legislature had been chosen in Kansas with antislavery voters participating, but proslavery settlers boycotted it. When Buchanan continued to press the Lecompton constitution, Congress ordered a vote on it in Kansas. Hoping to slant the results in favor of the measure, Buchanan said Kansas would not become a state until its population was 90,000 if the Lecompton constitution were rejected. Nevertheless, it was turned down by the Kansas, 6:1. By the end this, Kansas was very alienated from Washington's administration.**


	60. Chapter 60

"They're saying it's Congress's fault for lowering the tariffs," Buchanan scoffed, watching as America fell into another fit of coughing. "True enough, I suppose. That along with the competition. But those Northerners are always looking to pin the blame on the South nowadays, and vice versa."

"It's not anyone's fault," America insisted, blowing his nose on a handkerchief. "I'm just sick…it happens to everyone."

"But you are not just anyone," Buchanan mused, returning to his work. A short silence passed, the only sounds his president's pen scratching on paper and the periodic cough or sneeze from the young Nation.

"I wonder how the debates are going," America wondered aloud, in a calm between fits. "I wanted to go along with Douglas, but then this happened…"

"You did the right thing, staying here," Buchanan assured, before his tone turned snide. "You don't need to be listening to the trash that comes out of that man's mouth anyway. Or anything from that nobody Lincoln. The whole affair is drawing such useless attention."

America frowned, rather put out by Buchanan's obvious show of distain. He opened his mouth, ready to make some form of retort, when another coughing fit made up his mind that it wasn't worth it. Douglas had promised to tell him all about it when he came back, anyway, so he would find out the details in good time. Besides that, Buchanan could be stubborn as anything when he wanted to be, and America really didn't feel up to arguing Douglas's good points with him of all people in his current state.

Instead, he merely lay back against the backrest, letting his eyes fall shut. He had been up all night, coughing and sneezing, one of the two always seeming to start up as soon as the other stopped. Within moments, he could feel his mind succumbing to sleep, his lungs pleasantly calm for the time being.

Buchanan didn't like having the young Nation sleep in the office. An office was a place of work, not rest, he had said on several different occasions. But America supposed he would make an exception this time: he was sick, after all. And Buchanan must have a heart capable of sympathy somewhere in there, despite his usual severity. Or so America hoped.

* * *

_He's a lunatic_, America reminded himself, watching the trial's proceedings with a heavy heart. _A lunatic that tried to harm his own people,_ my people. But this wasn't the man America had been expecting. He had been expecting a deranged man, complete with evil laughter and a malicious aura. Not this sad human, calm and attentive as his inevitable fate was decided.

"If it is deemed necessary that I should forfeit my life for the furtherance of the ends of justice, and mingle my blood with the blood of millions in this slave country whose rights are disregarded by wicked, cruel, and unjust enactments," Brown proclaimed, just before the judge announced his verdict. "I say, let it be done."

The judge hesitated for a moment at these words, before hitting his mallet with a sense of conviction. "Mr. Brown, I hereby sentence you to death by hanging for the crimes of treason, conspiracy, and murder."

And that had been it. America watched the man go, heart torn. How was it possible that he felt both pity and disgust for the man? So strongly he felt each, both sympathetic to and gladdened by the man's fate. Deep down, he knew how it was true. The sentiments of his people, influencing his own, just as strongly as they ever had. But he wouldn't admit this, wouldn't admit that his emotions were so completely subject to those of his people.

He was his own person, his own self, despite everything. And he could stay above this. He had to.

* * *

"I don't know what to do," America admitted to Douglas as elections proceeded, a new edge of panic to his voice. "I can feel myself…splitting. I—I…"

"You're afraid," Douglas interceded knowingly, placing his hand on the young Nation's shoulder. "And you have every right to be. I can see what's going to come out of this. Nothing good, not for you, not for anyone. I know I'm not going to win the election, so I do not have much say…"

"Mr. Douglas, I…" America swallowed the lump rising in his throat, suppressing a cough with the same stone. "What's going to happen to me? South Carolina's going to secede. This country…_our country_…is going to fall apart. What's going to happen to _me_?"

"I don't know, America," Douglas sighed, squeezing the boy's shoulder once more, before turning to go. "I really don't know. But I'll try my best to keep that from happening, if it's any consolation."

_It's not_, America cried in his mind, his heart racing with adrenaline. _We both know it's not going to be enough…_

_

* * *

_

Buchanan was as distant as ever. He didn't inquire after America's despondency, too concerned with wrapping up matters in office before surrendering his post to the newcomer. The election was drawing to a close, victory looking certain for Lincoln.

Worries ran rampant through the young Nation's mind, ceaselessly patrolling the empty halls. _Would it hurt?_ part of him wondered, filling his mind with remembrance of the attack on Washington, the attacks on the Indians. _Would it be worse?_ He didn't know. He didn't know what to expect. All he knew was that he didn't want it to happen, didn't want to have to find out.

Outside his window, it was dark, despite being midday. Clouds had been obscuring the sun for days now, dark and heavy, looking ready to pour forth sheets of rain at any moment. But they did not, had not, as if waiting for the perfect moment.

He felt more alone than he ever had before, despite being around others almost constantly. Alone in a crowd. No one could help him, no one _would_ help him…

_This isn't happening_, another voice assured him, soothing and indignant. _Have more faith in your people. They can get through this in one piece._

_"I'm only speeding up the inevitable," England's voice was a sneer, mocking. "If such minimal strain is significantly harming your government, there surely must be something wrong with it."_

_That's not true, _the same voice persisted, his own he realized, arguing against England in years long passed. _I'm strong, strong enough to fight you…_

_"So you think," France's voice this time, laughing, deranged. "Your people are just as capable of such violen—"_

_"Not against themselves!" he heard his own voice from so long ago, yelling back..._

He scrunched his eyes closed, willing these memories away. Where were they coming from? _Why now?_

_"__Au contraire, mon enfant__," He could seen the mad grin on the Frenchman's face, the memory as clear as the day it happened. "You will see in time…"_

"No…_Nooo!_" America shouted, screaming loud as his lungs would allow. The covers were tangled around his form, the sheets damp with sweat. How had he gotten here? He didn't remember leaving the office.

_He didn't remember…he didn't—What was this pain, tearing at him, tearing him apart…_

His eyes wouldn't focus on the clock face mounted on the wall. Blurred numbers, blurred hands. He fumbled for Texas, panic making his fingers clumsy. Sweat-coated…slipping, slippery…

_Rain, wet, slippery. Guns, yelling, fighting…_

"England!" he screamed, curling into a ball. His eyes wouldn't close tight enough; his hands couldn't press close enough to keep the thoughts and voices out of his head hard as they clamped over his ears. "England!" As soon as the Brit arrived, the nightmares would go away. It would all be better_…_

_Why is he taking so long? I need help, England. Please…I'm afraid._

"America!" a voice shouted, breaking through his panic. He opened his eyes, daylight streaming in.

Blearily, he looked at the face above him: Douglas, his dark, graying hair swimming in and out of focus. "Texas," he mumbled incoherently, smiling a weak thanks when Douglas placed them into his hands.

"It's past noon...are you quite alright?" Douglas asked, knowing the answer.

"The election," America mumbled, scrubbing at his eyes before pushing the lenses on. "What are the results?"

"Lincoln…" Douglas's announcement was an apology. "Lincoln won."

And America felt his heart stop.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Northerners blamed the Panic of 1857 on the south-dominated Congress's protective lowering of tariffs (lowest levels in nearly half a century). As prices plummeted and unemployment rose, they attributed the collapse to foreign competition (the Crimean War had ended, and so Russia was again selling grain to break up the American monopoly on the business) and accused the South of sacrificing the prosperity of the whole Nation for its own selfish interests. The South, relative unaffected by the panic, claimed this was due to the superiority of the slavery system.**

**Republicans, desperate to win against the very popular Douglas for Illinois senate, chose Abraham Lincoln as their candidate. He had little formal education, and was of humble origins. He was a decent lawyer, with a knack for telling tales and speaking concisely. Not an abolitionist, he believed slavery was wrong, but was also sympathetic to the South.**

**In 1858, Lincoln challenged Douglas to what became know as the Lincoln-Douglas Debates. Douglas was short stocky, flashy, and resplendent, as opposed to tall, lean, worn Lincoln in his ill-fitting clothes, using average transportation and walking. They modified slavery views to the area, neither wanting it abolished or in the new territories. Lincoln often pictured Douglas as proslavery and pro-Dred Scott, while Douglas portrayed Lincoln as an abolitionist. They exaggerated minor difference, as they shared many aspects of thinking.**

**The Freeport Doctrine was Douglas's statement that the people can not uphold territory legislature if the local police are against it. Saved him Illinois, but upset the South. Although Lincoln lost, he made people aware, and demonstrated his personality elsewhere Republican wins were heavy. When Congress reconvened, southerners dominated, blocking northern proposals. Extreme southerners spoke of secession. **

**October 1589, John Brown and is group of 18 mixed followers attacked Harpers Ferry, Virginia, planning to seize the federal arsenal to arm the slaves that would presumably "flock" to him. They captured several hostages, but Brown was captured after a two-day siege. Although insane, he was dignified in jail and truly believed in racial equality (he called blacks who worked for him "Mister" and had them eat with him and sit with his family at church). Northerners admired him as martyr for this attitude. Thoreau wrote an essay titled "Courage" in honor of Brown. Southerners viewed this sympathy as proof of Northern ruthlessness. Several Northerners in the south were beaten and arrested, for being "accomplices" to Brown and out of pure anger in other cases. **

**Extremism was more evident in the South; emotional release; cracked down on slaves. In the Election 1860, the Democrats, unable to decide on a single candidate, split: The Northerners chose Douglas, while the Southerners backed John C. Breckinridge. The Freeport Doctrine. Southerners felt the North was industrializing too fast, fearing their expansion. The Republicans chose Lincoln, supporting a high tariff, free land for settlers, internal improvements, and no restrictions on immigration. At first they bribed leaders for votes for Lincoln's nomination. He ran against Seward, who was too extreme. **

**Remnants of the American and Whig parties combined to formed the Constitutional Union party, running John Bell. They steered clear of divisive issues, and for this reason were supported by many of the Border States. Douglas, realizing Lincoln would win, asked southerners to stand by the Union, regardless of the election's outcome. He was the only candidate to do so. Lincoln won.**

**And so starts the Civil War. Almost, anyway. Sorry for the delay…I've been busy with schoolwork and stuff. But you get an extra long chapter, see? Too late too proofread…maybe tomorrow.**


	61. Chapter 61

"They're just trying to get stuff out of us," Lincoln assured, upon meeting with a concerned America. "I doubt they'll actually try anything, my boy. Put the worries from your mind."

America shook his head, Texas nearly flying off his face. "Sir, I really don't think that's the case. Things have changed since the last time…they have more reason now, and I—I…" He couldn't get past the lump rising in his throat.

"America," Lincoln said with a steady calmness, leaning in towards the young Nation to look him directly in the eye, as he placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen. There's no need for you to get so worked up about all of this."

It should have been reassuring: the comforting trustworthiness of the palm, the relaxed assurance of his soon-to-be-president's tone. But all America felt was trapped, afraid, and angered by Lincoln's refusal to take him seriously.

"You don't understand," Feeling tears begin to prick at the back of his eyes, he jerked away violently, his voice coming out a frantic shout. "They're going to secede! I _know _it. I can _feel_ it. You're my president…you're supposed to make it better!"

Lincoln watched in dumbstruck silence for awhile, as the corners of the blond's eyes filled. "I'm not president yet, America," he returned evenly, when he at last had organized a response. "I will be soon enough, and I will take appropriate action if sufficient threat arises. But for now, you've got to calm down. Have you talked to Mr. Buchanan?"

"He doesn't care," America grit out between his teeth, wiping away a few stray tears. "And neither do you, it seems!"

"I _do_ care," Lincoln responded, in a suddenly steely voice, before softening again. "But I am not yet president. Until we meet again, rest your head. Matters should be clarified by then."

America left without bothering to say goodbye.

* * *

"There's nothing I can do," Buchanan repeated, sighing in frustration. "Yes, secession is _illegal_. Yes, they _shouldn't_ be allowed to go through with it. But there is no _legal_ way for the government to prevent it. And my term is nearly over…Lincoln's the one you should be discussing this with."

"I already spoke with him," America ground out, struggling to keep the rising hysteria inside of him out of his words. "He told me to talk to you. Is no one willing to do anything about this? Are all of you just going to sit back and—"

"America!" Buchanan raised his voice, narrowing his eyes. "There is nothing I can do about it. My time is short: I hardly have a say in what goes on once I leave. It would be foolishness to start something now, when—"

"It's foolishness to not do anything about it!" America screamed, not caring that his nails were drawing blood as they dug into his palms. "Jackson understood that! He may have been hot-headed and stubborn, and reckless at times…but he wasn't a fool!"

Resolutely, America glared at his president, meeting his eyes with as much ferocity as he could muster.

Buchanan's glower collapsed then, an expression of helplessness spreading over his features that the young Nation had never seen before on the man. "You don't understand, America," his tone was soft, exasperated. _Desperate_. "I know what a danger this is…to you, to all of us. But I _can't_ do anything. I've racked my brain for solutions, but I've had to reconcile with the fact that it's not in my hands anymore. I admit it…I'm no Jackson. But I refuse to let you call me a fool."

"Sir…I just," America's throat felt full, clogged, as it had so often lately. His legs felt weak, tingling all over as if he'd been sitting on them all day instead of running around. "I…" he sniffed, desperately trying to keep control of the last reigns on his emotion.

"I'm _afraid_," he managed at last, the two words, so simple, causing all the strength to fall out of him, as his resolve finally gave out and the tears came. He didn't want to cry, not here, not in front of Buchanan. Not after all these years: he'd grown out of it.

"America…" his president let the name hang on the air, awkward, hesitant. America had never before thought of the man as frail. It unnerved him.

"I'm sorry," America whispered through the stupid tears, before turning and running out of the room.

* * *

"_Let the consequences be what they may. Whether the Potomac is crimsoned in human gore, and Pennsylvania Avenue is paved ten fathoms in depth with mangled bodies…the South will never submit." ~Atlanta Newspaper_

"_I see only that a fearful calamity is upon us. There is no sacrifice I am not ready to make for the preservation of the Union save that of honour. If a disruption takes place, I shall go back in sorrow to my people and share the misery of my native state." ~Robert E. Lee_

_

* * *

_

He wished he could be angry again. Violent, furious—absolutely mad with rage, even. At least anger was strong, solid and passionate. Not like this terrible fear filling his gut, eating away at the linings of his organs. Fear of the unknown, of the uncertain.

What was he supposed to do? Just sit there and watch as his country—_he himself?_—was torn apart. Torn in two, and shredded at the ragged edges, factions of grey fraying the scraps. It would not be a clean cut. America knew that, if he was certain of nothing else.

There was no one left to go to. Ever since breaking away from England, and even before than, America had prided himself on his strength, his bravery. His ability to persevere through difficulties, and his daring. What if England had been right, all those years ago? What if he really couldn't stand on his own? What if all the Europeans who had mocked him were right?

Shaking, he drew his legs up to his chest, hugging them tighter and tighter, as if he could keep the South from seceding if he held them close enough.

What would it feel like when they finally left? Would it hurt? Would it feel like nothing? All the uncertainties kept him guessing, constantly pestering his mind as he sat in his room, the lights not helping to dispel the shadows one bit. He supposed he would find out soon enough. It was really only a matter of time.

_A matter of time until everything fell apart…_

Was this how England had felt, when he'd left him? Just the thought of it made his stomach churn, made the tears stream down all the faster.

If that were the case…

If England had felt this way, felt this horrid sensation that he could not even begin to describe…

If that were the case, America would never forgive himself. To intentionally bring this on another Nation.

But maybe that wasn't the case? America had only been a colony, after all, still his own person. When he had left England, it had been one Nation leaving another. Not a single Nation being torn apart…torn in two.

It would hurt, America decided. How could being ripped apart _not_ hurt, even if it was figurative? At least America hoped it was figurative.

What if it were literal? He could almost see his legs being torn from his torso: blood spilling out, ligaments and muscles shredding like old rope under too much stress. Would that be enough to kill him, to kill a Nation? Would he even want to remain alive after such a thing?

It was in the midst of these queries that a sudden wash of panic submerged the young Nation, clearing his mind to a blank, stricken white.

It was happening. And he had been right.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Shortly after Lincoln's election, South Carolina held a convention to decide its fate. On December 20****th****, secession was decided upon unanimously. By February 1, 1861, the six other states of the lower South followed (Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and Florida) establishing the Confederate States of America. Virginia, Tennessee, North Carolina, and Arkansas did not leave the Union, but announced that they would secede as well if the federal government tried to use force against the Confederacy. **

**Some southerners thought seceding would allow them to create a balanced economy like that of the North. All manufactured goods were made in the North, and it was continuing to expand economically, overshadowing the South. Many were also threatened by the mere possibility of emancipation, despite retaining Democrat (generally pro-slavery) majorities in the Congress. Over the years of sectional conflict, they had grown to think of all Northerners as "meddling abolitionists" fearing they would make a move to abolish slavery with a Republican president. **

**States rights were their justification for leaving the Union, believing the United States was something they had agreed to join, and so they could leave just as easily. Either way, the South decided to go with secession, despite the possible consequences. But not every slave owner was entirely for it. Many believed the risks of war and slave uprisings were too great, some remaining deeply loyal to the Union. Others, like Robert E. Lee (italics are him) went along reluctantly with secession, not believing in it with their hearts, but loyal to their home states. **

**Northerners refused to believe the South would secede. Lincoln dismissed secession as a bluff, a ploy of the South to win concessions he was determined not to make. Southerners, likewise, would not believe that the North would use force to stop them. They thought of them as "timid materialists", reluctant to risk both the cost and possible loss of life. It was believed "a lady's thimble will hold all the blood" that would be shed. Buchanan recognized the threat, but with little time in office remaining, he was powerless. He did not have the resolve of Jackson, and although he urged concessions to the South, he lacked the forcefulness to handle the situation. A more forceful president would have denounced secession in uncompromising terms, despite the lack of time left in his term. Instead, Buchanan faltered, stuck between compromise and "aimless drift". **

**Sorry this took so long ^^' But another long-ish chapter, yes? I'm still figuring out where I'm going with this. I have a basic game plan, but the details are a bit up in the air, as of yet. Spring break starts this weekend, though, so I should have more time. It's going to be less…conventional than previous wars. You'll see. **


	62. Chapter 62

"It's got to work," America muttered to himself, from his perch on his bed.

"I certainly hope so," Crittenden looked over at him from where he sat at the Nation's desk, rereading his work. "But it's been rejected so many times, I—"

"It _has_ to work," the blond insisted, tone bordering on manic, as he shifted. His legs were bothering him: buzzing, tingling, _burning_. It was a sensation beyond description. But he had to ignore it. It would only be temporary, _temporary_.

It had to be.

"Yes, Mr. America," Crittenden did his best to smile as he passed the false words, not believing them himself, no matter how much he hoped they could be true. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up. The proposal tonight…are you sure you'll be able to make it? If you can't, I can—"

"I'll be there," America assured, the bitter resolve behind his words sending a shiver down Crittenden's spine.

"All right. Until then, Mr. America." And he left, taking the documents with him.

America sat still, staring distractedly at the blank wall, blankets still tangled around his limbs. _His legs._

It had to work. Vividly, his nightmare from Jackson's presidency came back to him. What if that had been a premonition? What if it were about to happen?

_Fighting, dying...blood. Gray and blue, uniforms slipshod and ragged. His own people, fighting against each other, guns raised, bullets firing…_

No. He wouldn't let it happen. He'd do whatever it took to make sure it didn't.

* * *

"I refuse to go along with any agreement that lets slavery continue its creeping pace," Lincoln responded, adamant.

America could feel the anger burning inside him, bubbling up. "Sir, please, just consider it. You have to put the best interest of our country first. The South might come back to us if we put this into effect."

"It's not a matter of slavery that caused all this," Lincoln persisted, fiercely calm. "It's states rights. The South has always had a different view. It had to come to an end eventually. On the territorial question…I am inflexible."

It boiled over. "You promised me nothing would happen!" America shouted, springing up from his chair. His need to lean heavily on the table in front of him for support did nothing to dampen his image of rage. "You promised nothing would happen, and now you go and do this? I can't believe you. If this is the type of president you're going to be, I don't want you!"

Crittenden swallowed, eyes glued to his seat, apprehensively watching the conflict escalate. In fact, all eyes were on the two, though more so on Lincoln, waiting for his reaction to the insult.

"America…I admit I made a grave error. And I am sorry. But the past can not be changed," he apologized, though his tone remained firm, convincing. "_The South will not come back to us so easily_."

"You're wrong!" America shouted, pounding his fist on the table. "We can still stop this. I know what's going to happen and I won't allow it. I won't let so many of my people die!"

A hushed stillness passed over the assembly, a multitude of breaths hushed as they awaited the nearly-president's response. Tense, pregnant silence.

"Calm yourself, America," Lincoln stood up, emphasizing his significant height. "This is not the time to discuss this. You are hardly well."

"Of course I'm not!" America's screamed. His arms were trembling, struggling to keep himself up. "How could I possibly be 'well' when I'm being torn apart?"

Lincoln wordlessly crossed the room, looping an arm through America's arm and behind him, leading him out of the room. "Excuse us, gentlemen," he said politely, in closure.

"Let me go!" America shouted, pushing against the man with all his strength. But his arms were still shaking. When the doors closed behind them, Lincoln released him, only to catch him again when he stumbled, lowering him to floor so that he could sit.

"I'm truly sorry, America," Lincoln apologized once more, but this time with obvious empathy. "But it had to come to this. There's no other way."

"I'm sick of hearing that same old thing, again and again," America shot back, bitter. "There's always another way. We could have talked to them, worked things out. We could have—"

"And how long do you think that would've kept things together for?" Lincoln countered, voice strong with unidentifiable emotion. "A year or two? Maybe a few score? But then everyone would have been at each other's throats again, all the more bitter for festering those years. It's not my fault. It's not anyone's fault. You've got to accept that it's happening and there's no way to change that."

Shocked, the young Nation stared back at him, wordlessly.

"I'll help you back to your room," Lincoln continued, offering a hand to help the other man up. America took it numbly, legs shaking as he held tight to his president. A pillar of support in a sea of chaos.

When they reached his room, Lincoln deposited America on his bed, before leaving, without a word. Immediately America's troubled mind turned back to the South, his dream, Lincoln's words. He didn't sleep a wink that night.

* * *

"If you are as happy in entering the White House as I shall feel on returning to Wheatland, you are a happy man," Buchanan shook Lincoln's hand firmly, a bitter smile on his face.

Lincoln returned the expression. "I will try and make the best of it, sir. I wish you good luck."

Buchanan turned to America then, pausing as he searched for the words. The young Nation had been understandably moody, hardly speaking more than a sentence at best. But he'd taken to coming to the office more, in the very least, instead of holing himself up in his room all day. If there was ever a time when silver linings were important, it was now.

"You have my best wishes, as well, America," Buchanan said solemnly, extending a hand to the blond. "I wish I could have done more. But I know you will make it out of this. You're strong."

America merely nodded, looking up at his former president, before returning the handshake. His grip was strong, far stronger than Buchanan had expected, given his state. It was assuring.

"Thank you, sir," he tried his best to offer a smile, though it faltered, quivering at the edges. "You, too."

Buchanan left then, leaving the two alone. Lincoln set his meager belongings down on the desk, gazing around the office pensively.

"I thought over what you said," America began, breaking the awkward silence. "And you're right. I'm sorry for the way I acted."

"I don't blame you," Lincoln responded, running a hand over the wood of the desk. "But I'm glad you've seen sense. I fear this won't be the end, however. This is only the beginning."

"I know," America responded, gazing down at his hands. Strong, capable…such a contrast to his near useless legs. "I know that all too well."

* * *

**Historical Notes: In 1860 John Crittenden posed a constitutional amendment (the Crittenden Compromise), as a last resort. In it slavery would be "recognized as existing" in all territories south of the latitude 36° 30', and no future amendment would be able to tamper with the institution of slavery. His oldest son was about to become a southern general, another son a northern general, giving a special urgency to his request. However, Lincoln refused to consider any arrangement that would open new territory to slavery, rejecting it immediately in 1861. **

**Beginning in late December, Buchanan reorganized his cabinet, ousting Confederate sympathizers and replacing them with hard-line nationalists. These conservative Democrats strongly believed in American nationalism and refused to ****stand for secession. The new cabinet advised Buchanan to request emergency military power from Congress, but by that time Buchanan's relations with Congress were so strained and confidence in his leadership so low that his requests were rejected out of hand.**

**On Buchanan's final day as president, March 4, 1861, he remarked to the incoming Lincoln, "If you are as happy in entering the White House as I shall feel on returning to Wheatland, you are a happy man."**

**Slavery contributed to the secession, but the main issue wa****s states rights. The Southerners felt they should be able to secede as the majority of them wanted to do so, while the Northerners insisted seceding because of an election's results proved democracy's instability. **

**Sorry for the lateness. I just discovered this wonderful show called Merlin…and it's consuming my life ' I'm trying to keep it under wraps, though.**

another fma fan**: History can be viewed in a multitude of different ways. I used to be such a sadist with my favorite characters. I've since then grown out of that…though it might have helped me with this I feel so bad for America. **

**England was a big part of America's "childhood" so I feel it's important he slip in here every now and again :]**

**Very glad you're enjoying it ^^ This chapter should have addressed the rest of your review. Thank you for the review~! **


	63. Chapter 63

"_I would save the Union…If I could save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it, and if I could save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could do it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would also do that."_

"_A husband and wife may be divorced…but the different parts of our country cannot…Intercourse, either amicable or hostile must continue between them." _

_~ Abraham Lincoln_

_

* * *

_

"We just sent supplies," Lincoln defended, sitting upright in his desk chair. "They fired the first shots. I'm only authorizing the necessary response."

"Recruiting," America bit out the word like a curse. "You can't do this. I don't want all this fighting. I don't want to have to sit and watch my people kill each other."

"It's war, America," Lincoln responded, lacing his fingers in front of him. "This is what happens. People fight, and people die. We need to fight back if we want to win."

Minutes passed, before the blond replied. "Four more states seceded," he stated, feeling his voice crack and hating it. "There are riots everywhere in Baltimore. The border states are a mess."

"I know," his president remarked, trying his best to be assuring.

"Troops are all over the place. They aren't organized."

"I know," Lincoln released an empathetic sigh.

"They're going to kill themselves," America continued, swallowing uneasily.

"I know," was Lincoln's only response.

America frowned, turning to look out of his favorite window. He wished he could stand beside it as he used to.

* * *

"_Forward to Richmond!"_

"_On to Washington!"_

_America watched the two sides face off, before clattering against each other. Neither knew what they were doing, neither was properly trained. But they were both hopeful, fired up, ready to fight and do damage. Equally matched, in passion and naivety. _

_And then came a third force. For the South—the enemy? No, both sides were his. He cared for them both. Why were they doing this to him?_

"_Look, there is Jackson with his Virginians, standing like a stone wall against the enemy!" an enthused shout went out. _

_Jackson, here? What? Stone…wall…_

_Jackson was dead, wasn't he…?_

_The Union soldiers were driven back in a panic. Foolish watchers on the sidelines were trampled. Franticness, shouts, shots. America didn't want to see this. He closed his eyes, tried to cover his ears. But the sounds and images still reached him, still tugged at his heart.  
_

"_Stop!" he shouted. To the South, or to the North? To no one? To everyone? He didn't know. They didn't listen. He wasn't surprised._

"America!" Lincoln called, shaking him by the shoulders. The young Nation blinked: once, twice. And then became aware that he was in the Oval Office with his president, not out on the battlefield. That made sense. He couldn't walk, so how would he have gotten there?

"Yes?" he questioned, watching with increasing apprehension as Lincoln readied himself to relay news. Good or bad? He couldn't help but wonder how any news could be good at a time like this.

"The South managed to push back our forces. But they didn't make it to the capital, and causalities were light." Lincoln sat, waiting for a reaction from the younger man

Good then. If any causalities could be good. Little changed, just the start…

"Okay," he responded finally, letting his head fall back. It felt too heavy for his neck.

"I've begun working about a new plan of action. We'll blockade the South, and start by taking control of the Mississippi. McClellan…"

His brain felt weird, numb almost, and his eyes kept sliding shut. Buzzing filled his entire frame.

"_Why didn't you push harder? You had the upper hand, you should've followed through. But still…we showed them we're a force to be reckoned with!"_

"_Why did you run? What are you, cowards? Letting them get ahead like that!"_

America jerked up, heart thudding rapidly against his chest. What the hell was that?

"_England will help us. You know he will. He'll need our trade. _You'll_ need our supplies"_

"_No, that's a lie. We don't need your supplies. _He_ doesn't need you."_

"America?" Lincoln rushed over, concerned.

America felt sick. What was going on? What were these voices? And…which was right about England? When had he last seen the older man? The sweat felt cold as it dripped down his spine, leaving a trail of numbness in its wake. His throat wouldn't form words.

When the younger Nation didn't respond immediately, Lincoln extended a hand, checking the boy's forehead. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost?"

What could he say? That he was hearing things? He didn't need Lincoln thinking him mad, on top of everything else.

"Nothing," he lied. Raising an arm to scratch behind his head, he tried his best at a reassuring smile. Even he could tell how fake it must look.

"America, if there's something wrong, you can—" Lincoln began, only to be cut off.

"There isn't," the blond assured, with an odd sudden vehemence to his tone. But it didn't sound convincing, more like a child whole-heartedly defending their point of view on a matter beyond their understanding. Lost, but determined.

Still, Lincoln didn't push the matter, merely returning to his work. Politics and life went on, it seemed. Even if America felt like his world was ending.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Lincoln, while denying the legality secession, admitted that he would not attempt to reclaim the federal property seized by the Confederates in the deep South. Only two strongholds, Fort Sumter and Fort Pickens remained in Union-favoring hands. Many did not want to lose these positions without a fight, but Lincoln was reluctant to use force. When he sent supplies to Fort Sumter in April 1861, the Confederates opened fire on the fort before the ships could arrive, forcing its surrender. In response, Lincoln called for 75,000 volunteers. Angered, four states—Virginia, North Carolina, Arkansas, and Tennessee seceded. Mob aggression broke out in Baltimore, not subdued until Union troop intervention. **

**The Union had more people than the South (9 million to 3.5 million) and controlled most of the nation's factories—including those for weaponry—as well as the Nation's merchant marine and navy. They also had a better railroad system. However, they were unable to handle all the recruits. The initial army with it's 13,000 officers and men had difficulty absorbing the 186,00 who had joined by summer. Slipshod regiments were organized locally by the state, and a good military leader was difficult to find in the first part of the war. Lincoln didn't believe in powerful presidents. He spent a long time deliberating, but once his mind was made up, he stuck to it. **

**The Confederacy felt the North was too dependent on Southern materials to keep up support for the war, and believed that Britain would free their blocked markets as they produced ¾ of the world's cotton. They also were fighting on the defensive and had better military leaders than the North. But they had to create a new government. To make things easier, they maintained most of the old system, apart from increased sovereignty for the states, a show of the states rights view point for which they had left the Union. However, this led to disharmony, the States often disobeying the government even on military matters. Their military recruitment was just as scattered as that of the North. Jefferson Davis, president of the Confederacy, was a humane slave owner. Intelligent and courageous, but impatient with dull-witted people and prone to holding grudges. He wasn't a gifted military leader, and was very opinionated and reluctant to secede. However, luck was on their side, and they quickly found a genius military leader in the form of Robert E. Lee.**

**At the Battle of Bull Run, General Irvin McDowell attacked a Confederate troop of equal size under Pierre G. T. Beauregard. Victory for the North seemed certain until another Confederate troop under Thomas J. Jackson arrived. The Unions soldiers fled to Washington in a panic, trampling those that had been foolish enough to come and watch the battle. Even though the South didn't follow through with their victory, their morale soared. The North realized the enormity of subduing the Confederacy. **

**Lincoln created a new master plan: blockade all Southern ports and take control of the Mississippi (part of Scott's "Anaconda Plan" designed to starve the South into submission). A force would meanwhile be gathering in Washington, prepared to invade Virginia. He appointed George B. McClellan as military leader after Scott's retirement in November. McClellan had experience and skill, and was able and passionate. He had the logic to instill discipline and careful planning, but was dramatic and liked self-glorification. His units drove the Confederates out of the pro-Union western counties of Virginia, paving the way for West Virginia's admission as a separate state in 1863.**

**A lot of notes, I know, but it counteracts the scarcity of them in the past few chapters. The last especially. And I think I got my mind more straightened out on how I'm going to work this…those everything is far from planned. **

just another fma fan**: Glad it did, and that you're enjoying it ^^ You're quite welcome! Thank **_**you**_** for the review.**


	64. Chapter 64

"You're helping them," America's voice was low and biting as he addressed the older Nation. "First supplies, money…we've tried to keep them out. But you, _all of you_…you keep sending them."

"It's not as if the Union hasn't borrowed any money," England scoffed, trying his best to look nonchalant, as he sat across from the other. "Besides, I thought you could take care of yourself. That you were all grown up now, and wanted us to treat you as such."

The taller blond flinched.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you?" England frowned, crossing his legs.

"What about the ships?" America questioned, letting his fists clench.

"You mean the one you stopped _illegally_?" the older blond bit back without missing a beat.

"I mean the ones you've been building for the Confederacy," America clarified, ignoring the other's previous words. "Why are you doing this? Do you enjoy seeing me pulled apart? Do you like seeing me suffer?"

England stiffened, a chord struck by the words of his former charge.

"Is this what you wanted to happen, ever since I broke away from you? Is this some sort of sick revenge?" America's voice rose gradually, heading towards a yell.

"America…it's not like that, you don't understand, I—"

"_I_ don't understand?" America interrupted, tone harsh. "I don't think _you _understand. I'm not some stupid toy for you and the rest of Europe to play around with. 'Play along with him, wait until he's down, and then kick him when it will hurt the most. He isn't a real country, just some stupid kid who thinks he's an adult.' That's what you all think, isn't it?"

"America," England let out a shuddering breath, straightening in his chair. "I know this is serious. I know what it's like. I—"

"Do you?" again he was cut off. "I gave it some thought. About how you must've felt when you lost me. But that's not the same. We've always been two separate people. But this…the Union and the Confederacy: _they're both me_. Can you imagine what it feels like to be torn in half, and not be able to do anything about it?"

England didn't answer the rhetorical question, gazing off to the side instead, at the makeshift crutches America had used to meet him here.

"The fighting hasn't gotten bad yet, but if you keep sending them ships, it's only a matter of time. If you don't stop," the younger blond swallowed, as if bracing himself for something. "I'm going to have to stop you."

He let the words hang on the air, a vague and uncorroborated threat, but a threat nonetheless. Another 1812, another dispute to break up the past decades of relative calm. America was weak; he might fall apart if that happened. Did England want this?

"Fine," the Brit announced after a prolonged pause, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll stop. I'll stay out of it. But it's for my own sake. I can't have you falling apart on me."

America gave a weak smile, knowing what England was trying to say in his weird round about way. "Thank you. That means a lot."

He would have hugged him if he could stand normally.

* * *

"Matters have been going well," Lincoln mused aloud, more to himself than to the young Nation sitting quietly on the couch. He hadn't known the boy before the start of this war, so he did not have much basis for comparison, but even he could tell it was not normal for the other to be so hushed. "There haven't been many fights. My cabinet has calmed down. Chase has managed to get an idea of how to deal with funding, and Seward has backed down a little. From what I hear your negotiations with Britain went well."

"Yeah," America agreed, the smile that spread over his lips not quite reaching his eyes. "I guess so. I just have this…feeling inside of me that something bad is going to happen. It's hard to explain, and I don't like it."

"The calm before the storm," Lincoln reworded sympathetically. "I know. I'm sorry. If it were in my power to put an end to this by less drastic means, I would gladly do so. But the opportunity for negotiation has long since passed."

"I know," the blond hummed agitatedly, shifting slightly as his limp legs began to prickle. "I'm trying, sir, I really am. But I can't help but keep hoping for another way to resolve this."

"Of course," Lincoln agreed, setting his pen down. "It's natural to resist such conflict, that you would look for a peaceful alternative. Who in their right mind could just sit and settle for being torn apart?"

"I don't know," America admitted, with a wry grin. Under less grim circumstances, he might have laughed. He might have laughed, if it weren't happening to him at this very moment, if the situation weren't so horribly real.

"We'll make it through this," Lincoln assured, doing his best to offer a genuinely warm smile. "In one piece, together. I promise."

America nodded numbly, wanting to believing that promise, but knowing, deep down, that he couldn't. It wasn't that simple.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Lincoln had set up his cabinet with the intent of making it balanced (representing a wide range of opinion) rather than a capable harmonious group. Secretary of state, William H. Seward hated the Secretary of the treasury, Salmon P. Chase. Seward originally thought he could dominate Lincoln. He was radical, but deeply against secession, did not get along well with the Radical Republicans. With time, he realized that Lincoln was a capable leader, both steely and gentle, and grew to respect him. **

**By 1861, the Union's army was shaping up. Gun, uniform, ammunition, shoe, wagon, etc. manufacturing forced small scale producers to mechanize and try to increase their product yield. Chase underestimated how much the war would cost. He imposed taxes on income over $800, state taxes, and tax on items to try and make ends meet. The Government borrowed over $2.2 billion throughout the war, and created greenbacks—dollars not backed by gold. The cost of living in the North rose, due to inflation, but most citizens agreed this higher cost was something future generations would have to deal with, knowing it had helped to save the United States.**

**With the Southerners gone from Congress, the Republicans had a strong majority. They split up into two factions, the moderate and radicals. The Radical Republicans, such as Senator Sumner and Thaddeus Stevens, argued for total black equality, including political and civil rights. Many were opposed to this viewpoint. The Moderate Republicans objected strongly to the treatment of blacks as equals and opposed making abolition a goal in the war. Even some of the "Radicals" shared this opinion. Senator Benjamin Wade, for example, thought white prejudice against blacks perfectly understandable, even if it gave no on the right to "do injustice to anybody". **

**The Peace Democrats, on the other hand, wished to take over Congress and negotiate for peace. At a time when so many young men were dying, this stand caused infuriation. They were also known as "Copperheads", a reference not to the poisonous snake, but to an earlier time when some hard-money Democrats wore copper pennies around their necks.**

**Lincoln treated dissenters with a mixture of repression and toleration, arresting many but not arbitrarily. The federal courts upheld civil liberties, except when they were unable to do so in cases against the military, such as **_**Ex parte Merryman**_** (1861), in which General George Cadwalader failed to produce a prisoner for trial when ordered to do so, and remained unpunished. Clement L. Vallandigham, one of the most notorious foes of the administration and a Peace Democrat, was convicted as a dissenter and exiled to the Confederacy, from which he fled to Canada. He tried and failed to win in the presidential elections. **

**The South decided to remain purely defensive, passing conscription laws allowing for the hiring of substitutions, and exempting professors, druggists, mail carriers, large plantation owners, etc. These practices earned it the reputation of "a rich man's war, a poor man's fight". There was much political dispute, though two parties never formed. Conflicts continually occurred between Davis and the heads of "sovereign" states. **

**The South had limited means to finance the war. The blockade made tariffs difficult, and while some taxes were enforced, they were unable to procure much money. The South borrowed money as much as it could, and even mortgaged a good portion of their cotton that they could not deliver due to the blockade. With the increasing efficiency of the blockade, it became harder and harder to obtain European goods. However, they were able to manage, making some munitions plants of their own, and capturing large amounts of Northern arms. No battle was lost due to a shortage of military equipment, though lack of shoes and uniforms made it difficult. **

**The European powers did not come to help as expected. While they would have been glad to see America broken up, none were prepared to directly support the Confederacy. Britain had other sources for cotton, such as India and Egypt, and due to crop failure, needed Northern wheat. Most ordinary people in Britain were also favorable of the North.**

**In November 1861, the **_**USS San Jacinto**_** stopped a British vessel, the **_**Trent**_**, to forcibly arrest two Confederate envoys, James M. Mason and John Slidell who were on their way to London. This was a violation of international law, and it may have led to war if Lincoln didn't let the Southerners go. In 1862, two powerful cruisers, the **_**Florida**_** and the **_**Alabama**_**, were built for the Confederates in English shipyards. Despite American protests, they were sent out to sea, and began attacking northern merchant ships. When two ironclad "rams" were also built in Britain for the Confederates, the United States made it clear that it would declare war if the ships were delivered. The British government confiscated the vessels. Once the North obtained a clear superiority on the battlefield, the possibility of intervention vanished. **

**Drowned you all with notes again ^^' This chapter had to be moved around a bit, hence the lateness. It got way too long, so the second half got moved to next chapter. All of the reviews were wonderful :] You guys are amazing. I hope to have most of the Civil War finished before I head back to school, though with the end of Spring Break approaching, that might not be feasible. We'll see. **

just another fma fan**: I like including quotes when they help along the story :] Especially powerful ones. Very glad you're enjoying it so much! Thanks for the review. **


	65. Chapter 65

They_ were coming, closer and closer with every minute. America looked around, taking in the uniforms. Blue, Union. _They_ must be the Confederates. _

_The camped troops were sleeping peacefully, unaware of their impending doom. America tried to scream, tried to call out to them, but his voice wouldn't come. Desperate, he tried to move towards them, only to find his legs heavy, as if weighed down with lead. Each painstaking movement he took did nothing to bring him closer._

_He had to warn them before it was too late. But it already was. Shouts rang out as the sentries took notice of the approaching enemies. Chaos proliferated, half-awake soldiers scrambling up and trying to dress, trying to waken those still asleep. _

_But it was too late. The Confederates were upon them, awake and ready. Guns went off in quick succession, followed by an incessant chorus of screams, America's among them. He scrambled towards them faster, feeling his heart against his ribs. Pounding, burning. From exertion? Emotion? He didn't know, and couldn't bring himself to care._

_All he could see were his people dying. No blue, no grey. Only red. Everywhere, too much. America lost track of time, minutes stretching into hours, hours shrinking into seconds. All relative, all unimportant in the face of this massacre. _

_A terrible lull in screams and shots, a pause for the gore to sink into the greedy earth, for the blood to drain and leave the corpses gaunt and white. _

_Reinforcements came during the night. Union, from the blue of their clothing. America felt no pleasure at the change of tide, only dismay. More killing would take place, more death. Why wouldn't it stop? Was it so much to ask, that his people refrain from killing each other? _

_It hurt. It hurt to look, hurt to hear. Hurt to exist. All he wanted to do was curl into a ball and cower from the pain, will it away with all his heart. But he had to help, had to stop this…_

_Still he moved onwards, crawling now. He was making progress. The faces of the dead were visible, vivid with a horrible clarity that sent chills down his spine. _

_The fighting commenced once more, stretching on as he tried to move closer. Death…so much of it. More than he'd ever seen before, more than he ever wanted to see again. _

_The tears were hot down his cheeks. Dripping, dripping onto his dirt smeared hands. It was red. Red as blood. Bleeding, crimson, dark with the volume…_

_Stop…stop it…_

_Please. _

"Stop!" America screamed, coming back to consciousness with a jolt. He was in his room, tangled amid the sheet. They were wet, damp with something.

His dream filled in the blank, unbidden. Blood. He could see the darkness on the sheets, against his hands. Violently he scrambled for the edge, and fell heavily onto his forearms with a resounding bang. He couldn't see clearly, couldn't get to his feet. Where was Texas? Wherever his moist fingers flailed, they couldn't catch the elusive frames.

There was a series of knocks on the door. His fall and shouts must have woken someone.

"America?" Lincoln's voice, alarmed.

America wanted to scream to him, yell for him to come in quickly and make this all go away. It was a nightmare, it wasn't happening…

But the words wouldn't pass the growing lump in his throat.

"America!" light was pouring into the room now. His president was at his side, helping him to his feet. Immediately, he glanced towards the sheets. Mussed and entangled, but white and clean. No blood.

"_This isn't a joke."_

"_I know. That's what we've said."_

"_There's no glory, no honor, just blood."_

"_But there is. We're fighting for our rights."_

"_It's just carnage."_

_Blood, blood…_

"America?" Lincoln questioned, shaking him by the shoulders to get his attention. "What's wrong? You're not acting well."

"Blood," was all America would say, staring numbly down at his hands. Clean hands. No dirt, no blood.

"Blood?" Lincoln repeated, concern evident in both his tone and expression. He glanced down at America's hands, wrists, bed sheets. "Where?"

"Everywhere," America answered mechanically, before easing himself back into a laying position. His eyelids felt so heavy…

"America, what are you talking about?" Lincoln was kneeling next to the bed now, eyes narrowed in confused anxiety. "What's going on?"

"I'm just tired," the blond explained, as if that were an answer to all his president's questions. "Don't worry about it."

"If you're sure," Lincoln responded hesitantly, getting up to leave. His Nation's hand caught his sleeve as he rose.

"C-Can you stay?" America looked up at him with pleading, frightened eyes. Like a child after a bad dream. At heart, wasn't that the case? "Just for a little while."

"Okay," Lincoln smiled, pulling a chair over to the bed's side as America nestled into the covers. And so he sat for the next few hours, as his Nation succumbed to a deep dreamless sleep.

* * *

"You've got to get some sleep," Lincoln insisted, a few months later. "With the least offense meant, you look terrible. Pale as a sheet, and tired as the dead."

"Sir, I can't," America frowned, thinking back to his last attempt to do so. A few days ago. _Rain, blood. More death._ He knew there was more fighting going on as they spoke, and he couldn't bring himself to sleep, dreading the images he knew would come. It might be selfish, but…he couldn't bear to see such things happening to his people.

"I'll stay with you, if you want," Lincoln offered, resting his forearms on the desk. "That seemed to help the last time, did it not?"

"I just…not right now," there was a measure of desperation to his voice. _Pleading. _"I can't bear to see their faces," he added, in a tone almost too soft to be heard.

"America…" Lincoln made as if to stand, before stopping midway, awkwardly braced to stand, though reluctant to complete the action.

"I can't find Texas," the blond continued, as if the two sentences had anything to do with one another. "I haven't for some time now."

Lincoln thought back to what little he'd been told of America before taking his presidency. Texas…that meant… "Your glasses?" Lincoln questioned, as his mind filled in the blank. With a half-hearted nod, America confirmed his statement.

"Oh. I thought it a bit odd you weren't wearing them recently, but I didn't think to ask, given the circumstances," Lincoln ended with an almost apologetic tone.

"It's fine," America assured, leaning against the chair's backrest. "I can still see without Texas."

"Then why do you wear them?" Lincoln inquired, nonplussed.

"I suppose it just…feels right," America murmured, desperately trying to keep his eyes open as they began to slide shut.

"_We're getting closer, almost there now."_

"_You won't get to Richmond, we'll make sure of it!"_

"_So you think."_

"_Correctly, of course. McClellan's a damned coward."_

"_He isn't. We trust him."_

"_Lee will win…he's got this."_

_An image of Stonewall…various soldiers moving. A sense of apprehension. Plans about to succeed or go awry. A trap? Attack…fight…another battle to come._

_No…no more. Please, don't make me watch this. _

"_But we are you, and you are us…shouldn't you get to see what's going on?"_

"_Shouldn't you watch us? This is your fight, and yours alone. You know that, right?"_

"_You've got to make a decision."_

"_Choose…you've got to pick a side."_

_I can't…I…_

And he jerked awake then, nearly hitting into Lincoln who was standing in front of him, concern clear on his face.

"Another dream?" his president asked knowingly.

America swallowed. "Sort of. A nightmare, really."

He didn't clarify on the contents. Lincoln didn't need to know that he was hearing voices, nameless, unidentified voices. He didn't need to know what they were saying, all the insecurities they were bringing up, and pressure they were inciting.

He didn't need to know that his Nation was slowly losing his mind.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Many of the Plains Indians sided with the Confederacy because of their dislike of federal policies. Most of the white settlers from Colorado to California were pro-Union. In March 1862, a Texan army clashed with a Union force in the Battle of Glorieta Pass. It was an indecisive battle, but the Union unit managed to destroy the Texans' supply train, causing them to retreat behind the Rio Grande, and ending the Confederate threat to the Far West. **

**Meanwhile, larger Union forces under Ulysses S. Grant invaded Tennessee, capturing Fort Henry and Fort Donelson and taking 14,000 prisoners, by the effective use of armored gunboats. He then headed towards Corinth, Mississippi—an important railroad junction. **

**To stop Grant's advance, a Confederate force of 40,000 under Albert Sidney Johnston attacked suddenly at Shiloh on April 6****th****, 20 miles north of Corinth. The soldiers were caught off guard, some half-dressed, others still asleep in their blankets. But they stood their ground. After a long day of fighting, Union reinforcements arrived in the night, and on the second day, the tide turned in their favor. The Confederates fell back towards Corinth, exhausted and demoralized. **

**Grant, shaken, let them escape. This cost him his reputation gained in capturing Fort Henry and Fort Donelson, and he was relieved of his command. Although Corinth was eventually fell and New Orleans was captured by a naval force under Captain David Farragut, Vicksburg—key to control of the Mississippi—was still firmly in Confederate hands. **

**Shiloh had a staggering amount of causalities on both sides. More Americans died there in two days than in all the battles of the Revolution, the War of 1812, and the Mexican-American War combined. Union losses were over 13,000 and those of the Confederacy around 10,699 including General Johnston. Technology was largely to blame for this, due to more accurate guns that could be fired much quicker than the earlier muskets, and other more powerful artillery. Generals began to reconsider their tactics, and to experiment with field fortifications and other defensive measures. The people, North and South, stopped thinking of the war as a romantic test of courage and military skill. **

**In Virginia, General McClellan finally began to move against Richmond. His plan was to transport his army by water to the tip of the peninsula formed by the York and James rivers in order to attack Richmond from the southeast, rather than traverse the difficult terrain of northern Virginia. After the battle on March 9, 1862, between the USS Monitor and the Confederate Merrimack—the first fight in history between armored warships—control of these waters were in northern control. Although his plan alarmed many congressmen as it left Washington relatively unguarded, it solved the problem of keeping the army supplied in hostile country. **

**However, McClellan had an old fashioned view of battle, as a "gentlemanly contest". He wanted to capture Richmond, not to destroy the army guarding it, figuring it's fall would be spur the Confederacy to acknowledge defeat and return to the Union. Beneath his bravado, he was also a bit insecure, continually calling for more men, and not eager to start the fight.**

**Bu May 14****th****, he established a base at White House Landing, less than 25 miles from Richmond. A swift attack might have ended the war quickly, but McClellan hesitated, despite having 80,000 men in striking position and large reserves. As he continued his slow approach, the Confederates attacked part of his force separated from the rest by the rain-swollen Chickahominy River. The Battle of Seven Pines resulted in more than 10,000 causalities, despite being indecisive. During it, Confederate commander General Joseph E. Johnston was severely wounded, his leadership of the Army of Northern Virginia passing to Robert E. Lee.**

**Lee was a brilliant solider, if a reluctant supporter of secession. Unlike McClellan, who didn't take the time to understand his opponents, Lee observed each Union general and made his plans accordingly. "Where McClellan was complex, egotistical, perhaps even unbalanced, Lee was courtly, tactful, and entirely without McClellan's arrogant belief that he was a man of destiny."**

**To relieve pressure on Richmond, Lee sent "Stonewall" Jackson on a diversionary raid in the Shenandoah Valley, west of Richmond and Washington. Jackson struck hard and quickly, winning a number of battles and capturing equipment from the scattered Union forces. Lincoln sent 20,000 reserves to the Shenandoah to stop him—to McClellan's dismay, a she wanted the troops to attack Richmond from the North. But after the Seven Pines, Lee ordered Jackson back to Richmond. While Union armies headed towards the valley, Jackson slipped between them, reaching Ashland, directly north of Richmond, on June 25****th****. **

**Up until this point, McClellan had had the clear majority in troops, but now, that advantage lay with Lee, who attacked the very next day. For seven days, the fight went on. Lee's plan was too complex for his untested army, and so their full weight never hit the northern force at any one time, though it was still formidable. McClellan, who was talented with defensive maneuvering, fell back with intact lines, causing much damage. He eventually managed to bring his troops to a new base on the James River at Harrison's Landing, where the guns of the navy could shield his position. In the Seven Days' Battle for Richmond, the North lost 15,800 and the South almost 20,000. **

**Again you are drowned in notes. I blame my inability to simplify war events ._.' Always end up nearly rewriting the chapter in my notes. Enjoy the long chapter.**

just another fma fan: **You bring up a good point with Texas…maybe that's why America seems to have such trouble finding his glasses lately? I don't know…sort of want to go back and change this now. Ah well, what's done is done. Though, looking back…I haven't actually mentioned Texas in the past few chapters…so this could work. Heh. Anyway, though I'm still glad you're enjoying it…you told me not to say so. Thanks for the review ^^ EDIT: I think you see what I did there…**


	66. Chapter 66

"You're going to trust him again?" America questioned in disbelief.

"I'm surprised you take issue with McClellan," Lincoln responded, leaning back on his palms where he stood. "He's very cautious…doesn't rush into senseless battles."

"But he hesitates too much," America frowned. "He's prolonging this war needlessly…I just want it over with."

"As do I," Lincoln sighed, tilting his head back. "But we must use what tools we have. Let the man have another chance."

"Fine," America agreed hesitantly, gazing out his window as best he could with the distance. He pushed a finger up the bridge of his nose habitually, faltering when it didn't encounter the familiar metal frames.

He was so tired of this war. With all his heart, he hated it. Never before had he hated something so passionately as he did now. He'd give anything to end it all now, and go back to the days of Washington and Jefferson, before all these factions popped up. Before their ideal of America had mutated and split, a demented over grown dream.

He wanted it all to stop.

But his wishes were not answered. More destruction plagued his mind when he succumbed to sleep. Death, blood…such terrible faces. It had taken on a horrible quality of monotony. Perpetual terror and gore saturated the halls of his dream realm every time his heavy lids slid shut. And the voices were always there to great him when he awoke.

Yet fear was one of those things you could never truly grow used to. As much as you might expect it, it would always worsen and grow more terrible, just as you thought the worst was over. A deadly bacteria morphing just at the moment you thought you had found a cure.

"They got away," Lincoln informed him sullenly, weeks later. "Lee was thwarted, for the time being. But I've dismissed McClellan. Permanently, this time."

America stared at his legs, oddly sobered by the new development. Another chance to end this all, lost. He felt no urge to point at Lincoln and say he told him so. No urge to even do so in his head. It wasn't the man's fault. And he had enough to worry about these days, what with his sons…

For the life of him, he couldn't describe how he felt at that moment. Unhappy, of course. Disheartened, numb. But there was something else, something more. And hard as he thought, that something remained elusive.

* * *

"You're freeing them?" America looked up at Lincoln, who was busy scribbling away at a piece of paper on his desk.

"Only in the South," his president assured, as if America were opposed to the measure. "It will help raise chaos and stir matters up on the inside. The blacks will no doubt try and escape, now that they have the hope of freedom."

"Ah," America hummed pensively, not meeting Lincoln's gaze. He wasn't opposed to emancipation, personally, but…

"_What do you think you're doing?"_

"_How can you be okay with this? He's trying to undermine us. Undermine you."_

"_They're our labor force…out lively hood."_

"_They're property…how can you even start to think they deserve this?"_

"_Would you take the rest of our livestock from us as well?"_

"_Traitor!"_

"They won't be happy about it," America heard the words coming out of his mouth as if by their own will.

"What?" Lincoln looked up with full attention then, scanning his Nation's face. "You can't mean the Confederacy. They're the enemy."

"They're not," America shook his head, ignoring the voices in his head, building up in support of his words. "They're me."

"You're the United States," Lincoln reasoned, surprise clear in his voice. "They seceded, they left…they're no longer part of you."

"They are," the blond insisted, his voice sounding so frantic, so passionate that even he was taken aback. "They're still my people. I never abandoned them. The Union and Confederacy…are both me."

A silence passed, Lincoln staring at America with a mixture of disbelief and profound…pity? His voice was low and sympathetic when he finally spoke. "No wonder this has been tearing you up to such a degree. I never even stopped to consider that you might not think of them as foes. There isn't an enemy to you."

"Right," America let the word hang on the air, the voices in his mind once again breaking forth.

"_That's right, we aren't bad…"_

"_We're not enemies."_

"_We're you."_

"_You're both sides. You wouldn't pick a side."_

"_That wouldn't be right."_

"_Unfair."_

And then a different voice. _"You and I both know that's impossible."_ Pierce's voice, he realized with a jolt. It seemed ages since the other man had been office. Such a different time that he felt incredibly detached from.

_"In a conflict that involves you, you have to pick a side. You can't support both ends, or else you'll be torn in two when they both start fighting. Think logically."_

"America?" Lincoln's concerned call brought him back to reality.

Something was tickling his cheek, he realized, and made to brush at it. Wet. His eyes were wet.

"America, I'm sorry," Lincoln was apologizing, walking over to him, brow wrinkled. "I should have thought it through more thoroughly. I just assumed…" He broke off, for once not knowing what else to say.

"I can't pick between them," America managed to whisper, past the growing lump in his throat. "_I can't chose_."

The tears began to fall.

* * *

**Historical Notes: McClellan was in striking distance of Richmond, in an impregnable position with 86,000 soldiers ready to fight. Lee had sustained heavy losses and gained little ground. But Lincoln, fed up with McClellan's hesitance, put him under the command of General Henry W. Halleck, who called off the Peninsula campaign and had McClellan head back to join General John Pope, who was gathering a new army between Washington and Richmond. **

**As soon as Halleck pulled the troops back, Lee marched rapidly north, attacking Pope's troops on the same ground of Bull Run late in August. Dismayed, Lincoln turned back to McClellan. "We must use what tools we have," he told his secretary. While McClellan regrouped the shaken troops, Lee headed northwest around the defenses of Washington. He realized that the only way the Confederacy could win was a dramatic blow on Northern soil to break Union moral. If the battles were prolonged, the South would eventually succumb to the materially superior North. **

**Lee divided his army of 60,000 into a number of units. One, under Stonewall Jackson, captured more than 11,000 prisoners at Harpers Ferry. Another pressed North, almost to Pennsylvania. McClellan prepared to attack, until—assured by his capture of a Confederate message of Lee's disposition—he gained confidence and speed. September 17****th**** at Sharpsburg, Maryland—between the Potomac and Antietam Creek—he forced Lee into a fight. 70,000 Union soldiers clashed with 40,000 Confederates, Lee's troops having little room to maneuver. At the end of the day, more than 22,000 were dead or wounded. **

**Causalities were evenly divided and Confederate lines remained intact, but Lee's position was untenable, his men exhausted. McClellan had not yet thrown in his reserves, and new federal units arrived by the hour. But McClellan did not attack, holding his ground an entire day while Lee looked for a route of escape. During the night, the Confederates slipped away. Lee's invasion had failed, his army heavily damaged, but he was soon back in Richmond, rebuilding his force. Once again—and finally—Lincoln dismissed McClellan from his command. **

**Willie, one of Lincoln's remaining sons (his brother Eddie died ten months earlier), became ill in early 1862, after riding his pony in bad weather. His condition fluctuated from day to day, most likely typhoid fever from contaminated drinking water. Gradually Willie weakened, both parents spent much time at his bedside. ****He died February 20, 1862. Abraham said, "My poor boy. He was too good for this earth. God has called him home. I know that he is much better off in heaven, but then we loved him so. It is hard, hard to have him die!" **

**Lincoln initially hesitated to free the slaves because he feared it would cause divisions and alienate the Border States. Eventually, he freed all the slaves of the Confederacy in the Emancipation Proclamation, after the "victory" at Antietam, justifying it as a war tactic. Even Abolitionists often disliked blacks, and feared an inundation of them in the North as more were freed. The policy of "containment" quelled this fear. Miscegenation—mingling of whites and blacks as the "consequence" of black freedom—was a worry for many. **

**When military volunteering fell off, Congress passed a conscription act on men between 20 and 45. The hiring of substitutes and an exemption price of $300 were allowed. Similar to the South's policy, this favored the rich over the poor, and demonstrated the increased power of congress. They could, in theory, control the "life or death" of a citizen, since the casualty rate was so high. **

**In New York City, 1863, rioters—mostly poor Irish—began torching the city in response to conscription. It took temporary conscriptions suspension and federal troops to regain order. Over 100 lives were lost. People were more afraid of change than hateful of blacks. Most people retained their discriminatory views of blacks, but many were changing. Charities raised over $40,000 for victims of the riots and some conservatives were so appalled by the Irish rioters that they began to talk of giving blacks the vote.**

**The Emancipation Proclamation, while not truly freeing blacks as it is commonly believed, offered hope for improvement. Lincoln, although slightly racist himself, was admired and trusted by many blacks. Slaves would flock to Union lines when troops arrived. Southerners were upset by the "ungratefulness" of their slaves. **

**The 1792 law prohibiting black enlistment was repealed in the Emancipation Proclamation. Blacks were eager to join and the Union needed troops. Although they were paid only half of what whites were, they soon proved their worth. Many were killed due to Southern fury at their actions. Captured blacks were often killed. **

**So, with the end of the year approaching, I will be having to give my book back (unless I decide to "lose" it, but that could get pricy). I'm going to try and keep updates regular, but will also be putting a good portion of my time into typing up the notes I need, so that I'll have those as the story can always be worked on over the summer. I finished reading my book today. It was an epic read…and I wish there was a sequel. Darn time paradoxes that would create…**

just another fma fan**: For all my book's random useless information, it did not mention Lincoln's sons D: That's terrible.**

**I applied for AP European History…but that class never runs since our school never has enough students wanting to take it. Next year is no exception - -' But American History is still cool! I loathed it until this year…because of pioneers. Don't ask. But my opinion has been completely altered (though I still don't like pioneers). I only wish I had Hetalia back in all my World History courses…**

**And the note on the dream :D That's wicked. I had an inane amount of bizarre dreams over break…but a disappointing lack of Hetalia-ness. It was unfortunate. **

**Thank you for the review(s) ^^**


	67. Chapter 67

"Can you die of sleep loss?" America mused aloud one day, staring blearily at the book before him. He had hoped trying to read would help him stay awake, or at least get his mind off things. It seemed to be accomplishing neither of those purposes, the words blurring beyond recognition as he tried in vain to make sense of them. "I mean, for a normal human."

"I'm not entirely sure," Lincoln answered, looking up from his work. "I assumed they'd just fall asleep at some point. But if they were continually woken up…they'd be miserable, if nothing else."

"Ah…" America hummed, as he flipped the page. He couldn't say what the book was about, though he'd been "reading" it for some time now; only that it was old, the binding a worn brown leather. Come to think of it, he couldn't even remember where he had gotten it. He seemed to be forgetting a lot of things lately, what with how out of it he was all the time.

"Are you trying to experiment with that theory?" Lincoln inquired with a wry smile, as he looked over the blond. Dark bags beneath his bloodshot eyes. So much red surrounding the clear blue, marring its perfection. Too much red, as there seemed to be everywhere recently.

"I've heard what's going on," America found his throat dry and sore, as if from over use. That didn't make much sense: he'd hardly spoken at all today. "Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville. I don't want to see it."

"I know, but surely you must feel horrible," Lincoln's frown was sympathetic, the etched bags under his own eyes proof of the war's effect on him.

"As if sleep would help," America bit back, harsher than he meant to. He could feel the tears creeping up on him again, and so he went no further.

"America…if there were anything I could do," Lincoln sighed, absently surveying the office. "Sometimes I fear I'm quite useless to you. The war goes on…just look at the state of you. Surely my short-comings must be partly to blame."

The blond shook his head, instantly regretting how he'd snapped at the man. Lincoln was always so supportive and calm. Often, the young Nation found himself forgetting the man had his own troubles, his own emotions and life to deal with. In the face of this war, everything else seemed to fade.

"You do your best," America found the words after a short pause, not meeting his president's eyes. "That's the most I could hope for from anyone. It's not your fault. I'm sorry."

"As am I," Lincoln returned, though he didn't specify what for.

America couldn't find it in himself to care.

* * *

"It is well that war is so terrible—we should grow too fond of it!"

~Robert E. Lee

* * *

"So much for worrying about Grant's plan," Lincoln sighed, a smile creasing his lips as he went on. "He did it! This war's finally moving in the right direction."

America didn't look half as thrilled, from where he sat watching his president's reaction to the news. "The causalities are easing up now that it's over. For the time being," he contributed after awhile, though the upturned corners of his lips fidgeted, as if struggling to keep their place.

"It's the first step towards the end," Lincoln reasoned, his expression remaining optimistic. "You have to at least be happy about that, even if you still aren't sure which side you're rooting for."

"The violence will most likely start up again soon. It's just nearing towards winter, and no one wants to fight in the snow. And I'm not rooting for a side," America countered, with an odd determination that struck Lincoln a little off guard. "I want it to be over…but I'm not going to play favorites."

Lincoln tapped his fingers pensively, gazing at his Nation as if wishing he could see into his brain and guess his thoughts from the turning cogs. "Is it slavery? Do you not agree with its abolition?"

"No…I mean, I don't…" America shook his head as if it would get the unwanted thoughts out.

"_You don't pick sides, right?"_

"_You wouldn't do this to us."_

"_To your people." _

"_You know we need them."_

"I don't…really," the blond managed finally, leaning back until his head touched the back rest. Such simple things were so draining these days. "I don't support it myself, but I don't want the South to suffer. It's a big part of their economy and just…"

"You're not taking sides," Lincoln summarized, straightening. "I see where you're coming from, not being much of an abolitionist myself. But if it were to come to a decision…which I'm not saying it will—"

"I don't know," America interrupted him before he could elaborate anymore on the topic, and bring up any more questions the blond didn't want to have to answer. "I really don't know."

* * *

**Historical Notes: Lincoln was prone throughout his life to fits of melancholy. Back in the 1840s, he once wrote of himself: "I am now the most miserable man living. If what I felt were equally distributed to the whole human family, there would not be one cheerful face on earth." What with the loss of his son(s) and all…I think he'd be full of melancholy, with good reason.**

**General Ambrose E. Burnside—he was the origin for the word "sideburns", a joking name for his "magnificent side whiskers" as a play on his name—replaced McClellan. Burnside lacked self-confidence, and didn't enjoy high command, but when pressured felt it was his duty to do so. Unlike McClellan, he was aggressive. He planned to cross the Rappahannock River at Fredericksburg, but supply problems and bad weather delayed him until mid-December, giving Lee a chance to situate his army efficiently. Although he had more than 120,000 men against Lee's 75,000, Burnside should have withdrew when he saw Lee's clear advantage. Instead he pushed forward, entering Fredericksburg and charging against the enemy's defense line wave after wave as lee's artillery peppered them from their strategious position. The day after, December 14****th****, General Burnside ordered a retreat in tears. Shortly after, General Joseph Hooker replaced him.**

**Hooker was ill-tempered and vindictive, as well as a believer in dictatorship. By the spring of 1863 he had 125,000 men ready for action. Late in April he crossed the Rappahannock and quickly concentrated his troops on Chancellorsville, 10 miles west of Fredericksburg. His army out-numbered the Confederate's by more than two to one, but he delayed, allowing Lee to send Stonewall Jackson with a troop of 28,000 men to come around Hooker's other side. On May 2****nd****, Jackson attacked. The Union troops, completely surprised, crumbled, only saved by nightfall, using the pause it brought to rally. Heavy fighting continued until May 5****th****, when Hooker abandoned the field and retreated behind the Rappahannock. **

**The Confederacy suffered heavy losses, about 12,000, including Stonewall Jackson. Federal troops in the West were closing in on Vicksburg, threatening to cut Confederate communications with Arkansas and Texas. The North had time on their side, and so Lee decided to move, while their morale was still low from Chancellorsville. With 75,000 soldiers he crossed the Potomac, a larger Union force following him. By June his army had fanned out across southern Pennsylvania in a 50-mile arc from Chambersburg to the Susquehanna. Gray-clad soldiers ranged 50 miles northwest of Baltimore, within 10 miles of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. As Union soldiers had done in Virginia, Lee's men destroyed property and commandeered food, horses, and clothing wherever they could find them. **

**On July 1, a confederate division looking for shoes in the town of Gettysburg clashed with two brigades of Union cavalry northwest of the town. Both sides called for reinforcement, converging at the spot. The Confederates won control of the town, but the Union army—now under General George G. Meade—took a strong position along Cemetery Ridge, a hook-shaped stretch of high ground just to the south. Lee's men occupied Seminary Ridge, a parallel position. **

**For two days the Confederates attacked Cemetery Ridge, pounding it with the heaviest artillery barrage ever seen in America and repeatedly attacking it's sides. During General George E. Pickett's famous charge, a few of his men actually made it to Union lines before reserves drove them back. By nightfall on July 3****rd****, the Confederates were exhausted, and Union lines remained unbroken. Both sides took a break the next day, for the 4****th**** of July. Had Meade continued fighting, he could have crushed the Confederates, but he let the opportunity pass. And so Lee retreated back to safety on July 5****th****, for the first time clearly bested on the battlefield. **

**Meanwhile, Grant was given a second chance in July 1862. He was a controversial choice, due to his unremarkable record and drinking spell, but Lincoln recognized that grant had what it took to manage a large army and win battles. Grant's major aim was to capture Vicksburg, a city of extreme strategic importance. Together with Port Hudson, a bastion north of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, it guarded a 150-mile stretch of the Mississippi. This area of the river was inaccessible to Union gunboats, and as long as it remained in Confederate hands, they could send men and supplies via its waterways. **

**Vicksburg sits on a bluff overlooking a sharp bend in the river. Unapproachable from either west or north, Grant created a daring plan to get at it from the east. He descended the Mississippi from Memphis to a point a few miles north of the city. Then—leaving part of his force behind to trick the enemy into think he'd attack from the north—he crossed the west bank and moved quickly south. Recrossing the river below Vicksburg, he abandoned his communications and supply lines and struck at Jackson, Mississippi's capital. In several swift skirmishes, he captured Jackson, cutting off General John C. Pemberton's army—which was defending Vicksburg—from other Confederate units. Grant managed to defeat Pemberton in two decisive battles (Champion's Hill and Big Black River) and drove him inside the Vicksburg fortifications. By mid-May the city was under siege. Under relentless pressure, Pemberton surrendered on July 4****th****. With the Mississippi now accessible to federal gunboats, Texas and Arkansas were for all practical purposes lost to the Confederacy. **

**Lincoln had disliked Grant's plan, but now willingly admitted his error and placed Grant in command of all federal troops. Grant promptly took charge of the fighting around Chattanooga, where Confederate advances—beginning with the Battle of Chickamauga (September 19-20)—were threatening to develop into a major disaster for the Union. Shifting corps commanders and bringing up fresh units, he won another decisive victory at Chattanooga in a series of battles ending on November 25, 1863. This cleared the way for an invasion of Georgia. In March 1864, Lincoln summoned him to Washington and named him lieutenant general, giving him supreme command of the armies of the United States. **

**Sorry this took so long to get out ' I had the SAT today, and didn't really get around to looking at anything SAT-related until yesterday, so didn't have much time. And I have my last History test this week…and then we'll be doing whatever it is he plans to have us do since this isn't technically and AP class. But after this week, my workload should be easing up a bit. Maybe. **

just another fma fan:** We got about 3 people for AP Euro I guess. I believe around 14 is the minimum necessary…so not even close :/ Psych will be fun though…And Asian Studies. American Government, too.**

**I used to keep track of my dreams, but I never have time to write them down right when I wake up, unless it's over vacation or something. Especially recently I've been having difficulty getting to sleep, and so I sleep up until the last minute possible on schooldays. Perhaps I shall begin over the summer again? I think there's a project in Psych where you have to record dreams…**

**That sounds pretty neat. I've always wondered if there's some book about if the Revolutionary War never happened, or something. I feel there must be, and that it would be rather wicked :]**

**Well, I guess as it **_is_** a drabble series, despite the increasing length, I've been trying to zero in on the key events. I could put in some more filler/in between stuff…but again, I need to keep length in mind, as this will no doubt be quite long as is. It already is quite long ^ ^' **

**But I'd assume his meeting with England would go much as they usually do. Small talk, before they get down to business. And he's been getting around with the crutches. He can sort of walk…just not really. He can like…limp walk. I guess. None of this really thought out well. **

**Thank you for the review ^^ long review gets a long reply!**


	68. Chapter 68

It had been awhile since America had gotten out of the White House. It had been awhile since he'd felt the urge to.

It wasn't even a particularly nice day he decided to venture out. Grey skies, a slight edge to the wind promising a frost that night. Leaves lay underfoot, not brightly colored, but brown and lifeless, dull shattered remnants of their former glory.

When had it become fall again? When had the seasons changed? It felt as if he'd been in an alternate universe the past few years and was just now returning to Earth. Except it didn't seem quite as he had left it. Fake somehow. Different. He couldn't place his finger on the change.

His crutches dragged grooves into the organic debris, indented here and there by twin jabs as he eased his weight forward. Absently, he thought back to before the war started. Running, what had it been like to run? Only a few years had passed, and he found his memory of the action disturbingly vague. Like an old page of writing, blurred and besmirched with age.

Perhaps a few years would be some length of time to a Human, but to a Nation it was nothing. It would become such a great nothing as time passed on and he grew older. As would this war? Would it become a thing of the past, a ghost locked away only to be looked back on with trepidation and remorse? No. America couldn't see that happening. Not with something this big.

He continued on in his ungainly shuffle, savoring the feel of the chill biting into his skin. It was refreshing, such a change from the stale air of the White House.

_Lincoln…_

His president had given him specific instructions when he expressed the desire to journey out.

"_Stay away from the fighting," Lincoln issued, his voice lacking the sternness a command should possess. Instead it was worried. The concern was clear in his expression too, embedded in the creases of his brow. _

"_I've been in fights before," America responded, voice soft. It wasn't a show of defiance, merely a statement._

_Lincoln acknowledged it with a curt nod. "But not like this. Not in your state. Please, America. I know you're not Human, I know injuries are different for you…but I don't want to see you hurt anymore than you already are. Promise me."_

"_I promise," America returned without missing a beat. He tried his best to put on his usual casual smile, the one that had been so reassuring to his presidents in the past. _

_But it didn't work. He could feel the corners of his mouth: stiff, faltering. Though Lincoln's sigh was enough of an answer in and of itself._

America didn't break promises. He was the hero, and a hero would never do such a base thing. So he decided to make his way elsewhere, instead, to a building he had not frequented in quite some time.

The town was much different than he remembered, no longer the sleepy New England village from before the Revolution. Of course it wouldn't be. That would be ridiculous, for it to have remained unchanged all these years. But it made it harder to find the small house he had once called home.

Agitation sprang up inside him, a fear that perhaps he had forgotten. Or perhaps the house had been burned down, destroyed at some point. It was so old after all. Over a century…

People gaped at him as he limped through the streets, an expression of desperate determination on his face as he continued to plod forward. But no one came to speak with him, or interrupt his quest. Did they even know who he was? _What_ he was? Once upon a time, he might not have doubted it.

Blue, blood shot eyes scanned building after building, trying to pick out the age old lines of streets from their modern counterparts. He didn't notice that his breath was becoming quicker, that his heart was pounding with renewed fervor behind his ribs.

And there it was. It looked so much smaller than he remembered. So different, but more familiar than anything he had set eyes on in ages.

Excitedly, he hopped forward, mind awash with memories and thoughts. England's cooking, the evidence of witchcraft he had found in the closet. Did someone else live here now? Or would it be uninhabited, undisturbed since that night…

_"I'm an adult now, I can take care of myself. I don't need you anymore!"_

_"America…you can't. You're my little brother…you're my…you can't leave."_

_"No…I can."_

The flashbacks were a relief from the usual voices plaguing the halls of his mind, even though they sent a painful twinge through his chest. He was at the door now, shifting his weight so that he could reach a hand out to open the door.

In retrospect, he should've knocked first. But he didn't, pushing his way into the house with a sudden franticness.

_He had been out too late. England would be upset with him if he didn't hurry, didn't rush. He didn't want England to be upset with him, he never wanted to disappoint him…_

The house was empty. Eerily so. America's everyday belongings lay scattered about: old toys he'd been insisting on getting rid of, school books England had brought over…

Everything was the same, only garbed under a thin layer of dust. It didn't seem possible for it to have stayed like this. In fact, it wasn't. Not without at least minor check-ups.

America froze when he heard footsteps coming from upstairs. Heavy ones, heavier than he thought the house could support.

"Hello?" he called out, as he clattered over to the stairs. Just as he was debating how to best get up them in his current state, the other presence emerged.

_Russia. What on earth…?_

"America-kun~!" he smiled his childish expression, purple eyes sliding shut momentarily, before opening again to take in the other Nation. "I haven't seen you in awhile, but I've heard. You are holding up well, _da_?"

"I…suppose," the blond returned, uneasy and perplexed. "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting~" the taller Nation moved down the last few steps, the wood creaking loudly under his feet. "England-kun comes here a lot…So I was curious."

"England?" America's mind quickly filled in the blank, but nonetheless he stood with baited breath, waiting for the other's reply.

"_Da_!" Russia nodded, seemingly pleased about something. "He likes cleaning up this old house, for some reason. Other Nations are so _interesting_…"

"Ah," America hummed in response, his guess confirmed. _Iggy's come here a lot since that day. I wonder why I never did…_

"But he hasn't helped you much," Russia voiced in his odd manner, trailing a gloved hand down the dusty rail from where he stood. "That's like England, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" once again the blue-eyed one was left nonplussed, watching with hesitance as the taller Nation's hand paused.

Russia looked up then, looking at America as if for the first time. "No glasses," he commented with (feigned?) surprise, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, completely avoiding the other's question. He continued on with only a moment's pause, on a seemingly unrelated topic. "It's going to hurt if you keep this up."

"What do you mean?" the younger Nation repeated, feeling like a broken record.

"Rip!" Russia exclaimed, making America jump, as he jerked his hands apart from where they had drifted together. "It must be nice. It's nearing winter and it's still not too bad…"

Rather unnerved, America shifted, backing away a little. He was suddenly reminded of how small the house was. Too small…

_England had been coming here all these years…decades… _

A single tear dripped down his cheek, brushed away before Russia could see it. But the older Nation heard the slight sniffles, and cocked his head curiously.

"This is the part of you England misses," Russia whispered, so softly America almost didn't catch it. But he did, and he heard the implications in the silence.

_This is the part of you England cares about. This side of you: The Union. It's who he really wants to win. You know he doesn't say or do what he means._

"I would miss you, too, America-kun~" the blond's head jerked up, as if to check that Russia had actually spoken. His voice was very distinctive…it had to be…

The taller Nation grinned, before turning to leave with a wave. "You're a very interesting person~"

America couldn't recall the last time he had been so confused. Or so hopeful.

* * *

**Historical Notes: The only European country to show a definite friendship towards the Union was Czarist Russia. In the fall of 1863 two Russian fleets entered American waters, one in the Atlantic and one in the Pacific. They put into New York and San Francisco harbors and spent the winter there. The average Northerner was pleased by this, taking it to mean that the Russian Czar had placed the ships there as a warning to England and France. If they fought to support the South, he would help the North. However, this wasn't exactly the case. Russia was, at the time, in danger of getting into a war with England and France, for reasons totally unconnected with the Civil War in America. So to avoid the risk of having his fleets icebound in Russian ports, the Czar simply moved them to American harbors for the winter. If war should come, they would be in position to raid British and French trade ships. **

**Rapid inflation caused drastic price increases, with insufficient wage increases in the South. The railroad was wearing out. Imports became more and more scare with the increasingly efficient blockade, and industrialization was limited by lack of knowledge, labor, and capital. Southern dislike of centralized authority prevented the confederacy from making efficient use of its scare supplies. **

**In the North, after an initial brief depression, the economy flourished. War stimulated manufacturing, railroads were efficient, and farming improved because of decreased labor and bad harvests in Europe increasing export demand. Yet, there was mild inflation similar to the South. Congress passed economic measures previously blocked by Southern Democrats, from land measures like the Homestead Act to the National Banking Act, which created a uniform currency. Unions of skilled workers formed, and began striking. A new selfish, materialistic attitude came about. Churches played an active role in recruiting and fundraising, in both the North and South, though some were split over the question of emancipation. Over all, the war incited industry, and improved governmental organization by exposing problems.**

**Southern women had to tend to plantations in the absence of men, losing the concept of "ladyhood". After initial resistance, women participated in the medical corps, as well as clerks, textile workers and other "feminine" jobs. Northern women worked the fields and industries, their low wages halting the wage increase of their male counterparts. Elizabeth Blackwell created the Sanitary Commission, dedicated to improving sanitary conditions of the soldiers. There were also many army nurses. **

**This is the first mostly filler chapter I've written in awhile, methinks. And I'd forgotten how difficult Russia is to write ._.' I hope he didn't come out too badly. And I feel like my notes are spotty. It's late, and I wanted to get something up. I might expand later if it's bad enough. I really don't have an explanation. This just sort of came out. I think I like it.**

**On another note, I unexpectedly reached 400 reviews with last chapter. As most of you might know, I give out giftfics to every 100****th**** reviewer. My wonderful 400****th**** reviewer was extremely generous and declined the giftfic offer so that I might "make someone else's day" ^^ So it shall go to the 401****st**** reviewer. And remember, no repeats. **

just another fma fan**: Yeah I read up on it a bit, thinking of Gaara and stuff back when I had insomnia. It has since cleared up, for whatever, so needless to say, it wasn't anything serious…but wow does your body need sleep. **

**I will definitely have to look into those. They sound very neat ^^**

**I could split it up…but I think I'd rather keep it as this epic long thing. But that's good point. I'll try and see what I can do in future chapters. The part with him trying to read and not being able to was inspired by myself the night before SATs…trying to take a practice test ._.' This is why people study in advance, I suppose…**

**Thanks for the luck ^^ Actually more worried about the History one than I was about the SATs…standardized testing isn't all that bad, really. Just time consuming. **

**Thank you for the review :]**


	69. Chapter 69

"A lot of people want Grant out of his position," America mused aloud one day. He had been in an understandably odd mood since his return from his childhood home, thinking over the events that had transpired. Lincoln hadn't asked, sensing that it was a touchy subject and letting him get his thoughts straight. Yet another quality America liked about his current president.

"It's something they'll have to grin and bear," Lincoln sighed, tapping his pen on the desk. "He's making progress, unlike our last few generals. That's a quality I'm unwilling to give up, no matter the cost."

He paused for a moment, looking over the young Nation's face carefully before continuing hesitantly. "Do you agree with them? Is that why you're asking? I know you're determined not to take sides, and so such…_decisive_ action might alarm you."

The blond hummed slightly to himself, weighing his options ahs he tried to put into words the epiphany that had been mulling over in his mind the past few days.

"I've decided," he announced finally, lacing his fingers in his lap to keep from fidgeting. "I want this to end. And for that to happen…one side needs win. I think you know which side I've picked. But you're still wrong. The Confederacy is not our enemy. Our enemy is this division, and all the corruption that has caused this rift. I'll side with the Union, but I'll take no pleasure in any victories. My objective is to end this war. Nothing more and nothing less."

Lincoln was silent for a moment, his hand grasping the pen still as he sat in obvious thought. "I couldn't have said it better myself," he commended at last, smiling brightly at his Nation.

For the first time it was seemed like decades, America found himself truly able to smile back.

* * *

"[We] must make old and young, rich and poor feel the hard hand of war…We have devoured the land…All the people retire before us and desolation is behind. To realize what war is one should follow our tracks."

~ General William Tecumseh Sherman

* * *

Destruction. That was the only word to come to mind when America saw the miles of blackened ground. Burned, empty, and eerie beyond words. A shudder ran down America's spine as he thought of the ghost stories England had told him as a child. If there were ever a ghost town, this was it. _These_ were it.

Total war had seemed sensible in theory when Sherman had explained it to him. Appropriate or destroy everything that might help the enemy continue to fight. Logical, yes. Such a detached phrase, with so many possibilities.

That was part of why America had asked Lincoln to let him come and join up with Sherman, if only for a little while. Lincoln had been reluctant, but the blond had persevered. He wanted to see the aftermath with his own eyes. The aftermath of all the battles, the battles he had been turning a blind eye to. Four weeks, he had finally been allowed, though his president still seemed wary. He had made Sherman promise to do everything in his power to keep America out of harm's way. Sherman had replied he would do everything he could without inhibiting the troops. And Lincoln had agreed reluctantly.

And here he was, standing amid the destruction, feeling dwarfed by its magnitude. But oddly enough, he was glad, so terribly relieved that there hadn't been extensive causalities. Not like the battles Grant had been busy with, those Lincoln had forbidden him to visit. The ground was covered in soot, not blood. Black. Such a wonderful change from red.

And the reaction's of the blacks were inspiring. They were so indescribably happy, running to meet Sherman's troops and eager to help in the burning. It made an odd lightness tingle at the young Nation's heart, a phenomenon he had not felt in ages. Not since this whole war had started.

"They pray and shout and mix up my name with Moses," Sherman had explained with a sheepish laugh. Surely such a profoundly praised undertaking could not be all bad. Surely, they were not entirely in the wrong for doing this, not entirely evil or bad.

Though the voices in America's head claimed otherwise.

"_Stealing our slaves, just as you've stolen everything from us."_

"_Ungrateful beasts…how dare they!"_

"_Taking our food, food from children and mothers."_

"_How do you justify this?"_

"_How can you pick a side?"_

"_Unfair…"_

They were a harsh torrent, constantly springing up whenever he let his guard down, and raising doubts. Fears. If only America could feel half the conviction he had spoken with back in the office with Lincoln. If only…

"_Grin and bear." Lincoln's smile. Encouraging. "I couldn't have said it better myself."_

The first part became his mantra, repeated over and over in his mind as he tried to occupy himself with pleasant thoughts. It would all be over soon enough. This whole blasted affair. And then the slow process of healing would be begin, and it would be okay.

But more than the blackness around him, his stiff legs served as a reminder of the things were not resolved yet. Every time his crutches hit into a hard spot, or skidded too quickly amid the dust, he was reminded that the end was still to come.

* * *

**Historical Notes: Grant's strategy was to attack Lee and try and capture Richmond, while General William Tecumseh Sherman would move from Chattanooga towards Atlanta, Georgia. The two would meet in a pincer-like movement, crushing all resistance in their way. Early in May 1864, they began operations. Grant marched directly into the tangled wilderness south of the Rappahannock, where Hooker had been defeated a year earlier. **

**Having only 60,000 men, Lee forced the battle in the roughest possible country, where grant found it difficult to make efficient use of his larger force. For two days (May 5-6) the Battle of the Wilderness raged. When it was over the North had sustained another 18,000 causalities, far more than the Confederacy, but grant did not fall back. Instead he moved his troops to the southeast, attempting to outflank the Confederates. Guessing his intent, Lee rushed his men southeastward and placed them behind hastily made earthworks in key positions around Spotsylvania Court House. Grant attacked. Five days later, the Union army lost another 12,000 men, while the Confederate lines were still intact. **

**Grant realized that the only way to win the war was to wear down the South. Northern losses of men and equipment were replaceable; Southern ones were not. Many were critical of the cost, but Grant was determined. Again he pressed southeastward, attacked the Confederate's strong defenses at Cold Harbor, 9 miles from Richmond. It was a foolish and one-sided battle, akin to that of General Pakenham's attack on Andrew Jackson's forces outside New Orleans back in 1815. Nothing was gained for the large Union cost. The numbers were piling up, 60,000 causalities in less than a month. Northerners were dismayed, demanding "Butcher" Grant be removed from command. But Lincoln held firm, because despite the cost, Grant was making progress. The Southern forces were dwindling. **

**Grant next attacked south of the James River towards Petersburg, Lee's troops rushing to that city to stop him. Both sides constructed complicated lines of trenches, running for miles in a great arc south of Petersburg. Methodically, Union forces extended their lines, trying to weaken the Confederates and cut of the supply trains for Lee's troops and the city of Richmond. Grant could not overwhelm his opposition, but by late June, Lee was pinned. Moving again would mean having to abandon Richmond, and—more importantly—surrender, in Southern eyes. **

**In the summer of 1864, the North was in a pessimistic mood. Grant was making little progress with Lee's forces, and General Sherman in Georgia was inching tediously forward against Confederate Joseph E. Johnston's troops. When Sherman tried a direct assault at Kennesaw Mountain on June 27 he was thrown back with heavy causalities. In July Confederate raiders under General Jubal Early dashed suddenly across the Potomac from the Shenandoah Valley to within 5 miles of Washington before being turned back. A draft call for 500,000 additional men did not help the Union's morale. In June, Lincoln was renominated on the National Union ticket, with Tennessee Unionist Andrew Johnson, a former Democrat, as his running mate. He faced opposition from both the Democrats, who nominated General McClelland with a policy of peace at any price, and from the Radical Republicans, who supported Secretary of Treasury Chase over him. **

**On September 2, General Sherman's army fought its way into Atlanta. When Confederates countered by sending troops northward towards Tennessee—(this force was crushed before Nashville in December by a Union army under General George Thomas)—Sherman did not follow. Instead he abandoned his communications with Chattanooga and marched unopposed through Georgia, "from Atlanta to the sea." Sherman was like Grant in a lot of ways, the two very close friends. "He stood by me when I was crazy," Sherman said of Grant, "and I stood by him when he was drunk." But Sherman believed in total war—destroying or taking possession of everything useful to the enemy. **

**The march through Georgia had many objectives: conquering territory, destruction of southern resources, and psychological intimidation. It left a path of "desolation" behind it, proving the Union had the power to march an army straight through the South, more or less unopposed. Blacks flocked to the invaders by the thousands—women, men, and children—cheering and praising Sherman. His victories staggered the Confederacy and anti-Lincoln forces in the North. In November 1864, the president was easily reelected, 212 electoral votes to 21. **

**Sherman entered Savannah on December 22, having destroyed a 60 mile wide strip of Georgia. Early in January 1865, he marched northward, leaving behind "a broad black streak of ruin and desolation—the fences all gone; lonesome smoke-stacks, surrounded by dark heaps of ashes and cinders, marking the spots where human habitations had stood." In February, he captured Columbia, South Carolina. Shortly after they reached North Carolina, advancing relentlessly. Each day, back in Virginia, Grant's vice grew tighter whilst Confederate lines became thinner and more ragged. **

**Sorry this is so late. Last weekend was busy with prom and birthday stuffs which will continue into this weekend, and family stuff for mother's Day, and my English research paper…and my DBQ for History, which we've gotten started on. Still trying to decide on a topic for that. I want to do something with Japan…but since it has to relate to American History, I was thinking either the internment or the bombings. Any other ideas? Too many topics in the world…**

**Not proofread --' Too tired...will do tomorrow sometime. I just want to get this up since it's been forever...**

just another fma fan: **Glad you enjoyed it ^^ Just so happened that you requested more filler right before this happened, as I've been planning it for awhile. But I suppose it isn't really filler if it relates…oh well.**

**I'm glad you think Russia came off well :] I'm still not quite happy with how he turned out in that chapter…but he's just so difficult to write.**

**I feel rather dumb asking this but…what exactly is Children's Day? I keep hearing of it, but I've never gotten around to looking into it.**

**Happy Cinco de Mayo…as I took Spanish for four years. I'm now in Italian but I don't think they have a holiday on the 5th of May, that I can think of. Thank you for the review ^^**

**PS: Sleep is a very good thing. I think I need to be getting more of it --'**


	70. Chapter 70

"We're closing in on them," Lincoln announced, an expression of such relief on his face that it was almost tangible. "Lee's a brilliant man. He'll soon realize the futility of his position."

"It's almost over," America breathed, leaning back in his chair, feelings matched to those of his president. "I don't believe it."

"Don't," Lincoln advised, running a hand through his graying hair. He looked so much older than he had only several years ago. How fast stress could age a man. "The fighting may be over, but the effects will last. This isn't something that will ever vanish or be forgotten with time. And there is much healing to do."

"I know," the young Nation agreed, glancing out his favorite window. "I know."

* * *

"_Let us judge not…that we will not be judged."_

_~Abraham Lincoln

* * *

_

"I met you once before, General Lee, while we were serving in Mexico," Grant greeted, after shaking Lee's hand. "I have always remembered your appearance, and I think I should have recognized you anywhere."

"The war in Mexico," Lee smiled wistfully, letting his hand drop to his side. "It seems so long ago. Almost another life time, so many years have passed. But I remember our meeting, General Grant."

America watched and listened to the two as they reminisced over their time in Mexico, smiling and laughing together as if they were the best of friends. Union and Confederate, the very leaders of the troops that had so bitterly engaged each other mere weeks before. It warmed his heart to see them getting along so well. Able to forget their troubles of the past year, if only for a few moments. How America wished the rest of his people could be so resilient.

"As much as I've enjoyed reliving old memories, we have other business to attend to," Grant voiced after awhile, his reluctance evident as he dropped his grin, though his amiability remained. "President Lincoln wishes only that your soldiers lay down their arms. They may return home in peace."

Lee nodded numbly, a wordless agreement. "Tell him thank you," Lee brushed something from his eyes. "My men…would benefit greatly, if you would allow them to retain possession of their horses."

"Of course," Grant smiled back at him, his own eyes seeming to have gathered some form of debris. "Of course they can."

The two of them glanced to America then, waiting for his response to the happenings. He looked back at them with his signature smile, before speaking from his seat. "I speak for both Lincoln and myself when I say…all I want is for our country to be whole again. Back as it was before this whole conflict, but better for the struggles we've made it through. I want us all to get along again, as you both have. I want us to work together to rebuild."

"And to get America back on his feet," Grant added with a wry smile, sensing the Nation was done. And the three of them chuckled, even Lee. It seemed decades since America had laughed, an action that had become almost as forgotten to him as running.

"Let's see," Lee said finally, stepping forward to extent a hand to his seated country. When America reached for his crutches, Lee shook his head. "Without those. Something tells me you might not need them anymore."

With only minor hesitance, America took the hand of the man who had once been his "enemy". Not truly, no. There had been no enemy, only misunderstanding and division as he had said to Lincoln.

His feet felt odd beneath him, flat on solid ground. His legs shook and felt stiff, so foreign as he tried to shift into a better position. How would it feel to be able to walk again?

"Come on, let's test them out a bit," Grant suggested, slipping his hand around America's remaining one. "If you fall, we'll catch you."

"We've got you're back," Lee agreed.

America smiled, trying to convey all the happiness and gratefulness he felt in that one expression. No words came to mind, and so he simply nodded.

It was an indescribable feeling, both alien and familiar, new and old. He felt like a healed cripple, amazed and excited. But different. He was not yet completely better, not completely back to normal. Somehow he knew it would take years before he was able to walk casually and without thought again, able to run.

But it was a step, the first in the long path of reconstruction and acceptance. And he wouldn't have to do it alone. His people were behind him, even those who were unhappy with how the war had ended. He had people like Lee and Grant. And Lincoln. He wasn't alone, suffering on his own in his mind, lost and confused.

Not anymore.

* * *

**Historical Notes: On March 4****th****, Lincoln took the presidential oath and delivered his second inaugural address. With victory certain, he encouraged tolerance, mercy, and reconstruction. He urged all Americans to let go of malice and work together to mend the damage and create a fair and lasting peace between the sections. Photographs were taken around this time to show how four years of war had changed him. He had become both gentle and steel-tough, both haggard and inwardly calm. **

**The Confederate troops around Petersburg could no longer withstand federal pressure. Desperately, Lee tried to pull his forces back to the Richmond and Danville Railroad at Lynchburg, but he was quickly surrounded by Grant's army. Richmond fell on April 3. With fewer than 30,000 men left to oppose Grant's 115,000, Lee acknowledged the futility of further resistance. On April 9, he and Grant met by prearrangement at Appomattox Court House. Lee was noble in defeat, Grant sensitive and forgiving, despite his tough exterior. That first line of his is a direct quote from my book. The two spoke of their time in Mexico, before Grant passed along Lincoln's terms. All they required was that the Confederate soldiers lay down their arms: they could return home in peace. When Lee hinted (he was "too proud" to out-rightly ask) that his men would profit greatly if they could keep their horses, Grant agreed to let them do so. **

**The war ended, costing the nation more than 600,000 lives, nearly as many as in all the other American wars combined. It also caused enormous property losses, especially in the Confederacy. Because of the destruction, many became bitter and hateful. Wartime conditions had generated corruption, materialism, and selfishness. Although their were many examples of charity, devotion, and self-sacrifice generated by the war, the effect overall from 1861 to 1865 on the moral atmosphere was bad. **

**Slavery was dead. After 1865, Americans tended to see the United States not as a union of states but as a nation. After Appomattox, secession was almost literally inconceivable. As Lincoln has expected, the northern victory encouraged supporters of republican government and democracy worldwide. A better-integrated society and a more technically advanced and productive economic system also resulted from the war. **

"**Abraham Lincoln took actions that had many people calling him a dictator; he suspended the writ of habeas corpus and jailed opponents of the Union with no trial and violating their rights. He raised an army without getting congress approval and took illegal action against the south by blocking its ports. Lincoln claimed the Constitution gave him the authority to do what was necessary to preserve the union." ~ courtesy of **Yoly **:]**

**So I guess Lincoln went about ending the war through some rather questionable means, but since it all worked out in the end, he wasn't thought of too badly for it. Such is the way of History. But in my mind, he just wanted to get the war over as soon as possible, because he saw what it was doing to America, and wanted to do everything in his power to stop him from suffering any longer. Even if it was not in his legal power. Yeah. I don't know.**

**I think we all know what's coming next chapter :/ I shall try and do it justice. I have it pretty much planned out, more or less. And I will not stand for it to be as half-baked as I feel these last two have been ' Going to go sleep now to ensure that. **

just another fma fan: **I wish there was a creative writing class at my school… Glad to improve your morning ^^**

**That's a neat idea, to celebrate children growing up. Thank you for clearing that up :] And a Japanese teacher, too. You're school actual offers Japanese classes o: That's beyond neat.**

**That's brilliant, and sounds totally like the kind of paper I would enjoy writing. But my History teacher would never go for it, since it's all of US History, and he'd much prefer a paper on the Salem Witch Trials or something of the like. Which is a fairly interesting topic…-reading the crucible now- So I think I'm going to go with the Japanese-American Internment camps. Though I had been toying with the idea on improvements in American-Japanese relations since the bombings, I'm afraid he might not take to that.**

**Thank you for the review ^^**


	71. Chapter 71

_Sobbing. Horrible, heart-wrenching sobbing. America stirred in his bed, sleep-numbed mind struggling to find reason for the cries. Gradually, he grew more and more awake with the increasing awareness that he couldn't find justification for sorrowful wails. _

What on earth…?

_Groaning as he stretched and shuffled out of his bed, America rubbed at his eyes. His legs were stiff, but mobile. More than he could say they had been for the last several years. But that thought was hardly a fleeting query across his mind, so preoccupied was he with locating the source of the mournful noise._

_The halls were oddly empty as he moved about. Full of light, and full of an odd feeling. Like something wasn't quite right. As if something wrong were going on at that very moment, but he wasn't yet aware of it._

_The sobs grew louder as he continued on, ever nearing what he imagined to be the location. Walking, walking absently, but with purpose. Towards the East Room, he realized vaguely, not quite sure what to make of that observation. Only knowing an extreme feeling of trepidation was welling up inside him. _

_When he finally entered the room, he was met with a shock: a casket, displaying a covered body, surrounded by mourners. Their cries were terrible, heart-breaking. As he stepped closer, a horrible shudder trailed through his body, though he could not guess why._

_Who had died? Who was that body?_

Where was Lincoln?

_Without meaning to, the questions became vocalized, to one of the soldiers stationed around the casket. _

"_Mr. America," the guard seemed hesitant, reluctant to answer his question._

"_What's going on?" the blond persisted, with a sudden panic. His heart was pounding in his chest. So quickly, as if trying to escape. _

"_It's the President," the other finally responded, unidentifiable emotion in his voice. "He was killed by an assassin." _

_A loud wail went up then, from all of the gathered mourners, accompaniment to the scream America felt ready to give as he heard those words. He couldn't be serious. Lincoln couldn't possibly be…He couldn't be…_

_Couldn't be _dead_. _

_No…

* * *

_

With a jolt, America woke up, met with the ceiling of his bedroom. His heart was still racing in his chest, in his ears. The covered corpse still fresh in his mind.

Without bothering to get dressed, the young Nation leapt to his feet and bolted out of his room, down towards the Oval Office. His recently impaired legs couldn't carry him fast enough, and he kept stumbling in his haste, tripping into all manner of things.

_Lincoln isn't dead…he can't be. _No matter how often that mantra circled through his mind, America could not put the image of the casket out of his head, the wailing of the mourners. He needed to see Lincoln with his only eyes.

Breathless, America burst into the office, not bothering to knock.

"America!" Lincoln bolted up from his seat, running to meet America in a rush, concern evident in his expression. "What on earth is going on? You look as if you've seen a ghost! And it's hardly past eight…you're never awake this early."

"I knew it wasn't true," America sobbed breathlessly, as a wave of relief surged through him, so strongly that his knees grew weak, and buckled. All he could register was gratitude as he sat there, shaking.

Lincoln knelt in front of him, gripping his shoulders roughly in a panic, and shaking him slightly. "What is going on? America, answer me!"

"I…" he took in a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he looked up into his President's eyes. They were so full of worry, of fear. _Life._ "I had a dream….a nightmare. A terrible one."

For a moment Lincoln relaxed, before his brow furrowed once more with thought. "What was this dream about?"

"I…I was," falteringly, America began to explain his dream. The words came readily to his lips, flowing out in a gush of terror and emotion. He tried to stay calm, reminding himself that it was merely that. A dream, a night terror. Nothing more. Lincoln was right here, alive and well.

When the young Nation finish relating his tale, Lincoln looked even more ill at ease. He withdrew slightly, loosening his hold on America's shoulders. Eyes staring off into space, not meeting his Nation's.

His behavior was unnerving. America had expected him to pass off the dream, assure him that it was nothing, and try and move the subject onto lighter things. But instead he looked upset, perturbed by this news, more so than any dream should merit. Even one of his own death.

"Is something wrong?" America asked, curiosity creeping into his tone along with the anxiety. When Lincoln didn't respond, he went on. "You can trust me. I won't tell anyone."

"I know that," his President returned with a distracted smile. "But…it's nothing you need to worry about. Foolishness, is all."

"Sir, please," America pleaded, wanting to know what was going on so that he could help. "_Lincoln_. If it is making you worry this much, it must be if significance. I can handle it. I promise."

"I…" the older man frowned, before turning to meet the brilliant blue gaze of his Nation. "I had a dream several days ago. The same as yours, only slight variations. But…that doesn't mean anything. They're just fanciful night terrors. Nothing more."

"Yeah," America agreed, perhaps too eagerly, nodding vigorously. "They're nothing to worry about."

If only their minds could have so easily been put at rest.

* * *

**Historical Notes: On April 5, 1865, Abraham Lincoln visited Richmond. The fallen capital lay in ruins, sections blackened by fire, but the president was able to walk around the streets unbothered and nearly unattended. Everywhere he went, black people crowded around him, offering praises. "Some fell to their knees as he passed, crying 'Glory, Hallelujah,' hailing him as a messiah." Even white townspeople seemed to have accepted defeat with out resentment. A few days later, in Washington, Lincoln delivered an important speech on Reconstruction, urging compassion and open-mindedness. **

**Despite its bloodiness, the Civil War had caused less intersectional hatred than might have been expected. Although civilian property was often seized or destroyed, the invading armies treated the southern population fairly well, both during the war and after its end. During the war, Northerners claimed they would "hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree," and when he was captured in Georgia in May 1865, he was at once arrested and prepared for trial on charges of treason and murder. But feeling against Davis quickly subsided. In1867, the military turned him over to the civil courts, which released him on bail. He was never brought to trail. A few other Confederate officials spent short periods behind bars, but the only Southerner executed for war crimes was Major Jenry Wirz, the commandant of Andersonville military prison. **

**Three days before his assassination, Abraham Lincoln confided to his wife and a few friends a dream he had. According to ****Ward Hill Lamon****, one of the friends who was present for the conversation, the president said:**

**"About ten days ago, I retired very late. I had been up waiting for important dispatches from the front. I could not have been long in bed when I fell into a slumber, for I was weary. I soon began to dream. There seemed to be a death-like stillness about me. Then I heard subdued sobs, as if a number of people were weeping. I thought I left my bed and wandered downstairs. There the silence was broken by the same pitiful sobbing, but the mourners were invisible. I went from room to room; no living person was in sight, but the same mournful sounds of distress met me as I passed along. I saw light in all the rooms; every object was familiar to me; but where were all the people who were grieving as if their hearts would break? I was puzzled and alarmed. What could be the meaning of all this? Determined to find the cause of a state of things so mysterious and so shocking, I kept on until I arrived at the East Room, which I entered. There I met with a sickening surprise. Before me was a catafalque, on which rested a corpse wrapped in funeral vestments. Around it were stationed soldiers who were acting as guards; and there was a throng of people, gazing mournfully upon the corpse, whose face was covered, others weeping pitifully. 'Who is dead in the White House?' I demanded of one of the soldiers, 'The President,' was his answer; 'he was killed by an assassin.' Then came a loud burst of grief from the crowd, which woke me from my dream. I slept no more that night; and although it was only a dream, I have been strangely annoyed by it ever since."**

**And a little side note **akuma-river **brought up that I thought was pretty interesting:**

"**Did you know that the war began and ended in one man's front yard? The major battle that began the war happened in front of his house and the Union took control of it. After that the Confederates came back and it was an even bigger battle. He had enough and sold his house. And he moved to the place that was eventually renamed to Appomattox. The talks happened in his parlor." **

**I hope it's okay that I just quoted your message ^^'**

**Credit goes to **The Q Continuum****** for thinking up the idea of having America share Lincoln's premonition. Brilliant idea :]**

**I had intended to get more in here…but I think any more might have felt a bit rushed. So Lincoln shall live a little longer ;_;**

just another fma fan: **I…I am speechless. But thrilled that you thinks so ^^ Japanese at your school…I am jealous. Though Italian is fun, and many high schools don't even have that. A story about Japanese-American relationship through history…might be added to my list of things I'll have to write at some point in the future. I wanted to write my paper on something like that…but the topic was too broad. We'll be getting to MacArthur eventually…**

**Thanks for the review ^^**


	72. Chapter 72

The air between America and his president was still, but not awkward. They had been careful around each other since that last incident, the shared dream hanging over them like a dark cloud. As hard as they tried to ignore and forget about it, it remained. Ever present, and menacing. But matters went on.

It was in this setting that Lincoln drew himself up suddenly, laying down his quill, and shoving away from his desk.

America looked up from the book he was glancing through, curious.

"Tell me, what is your opinion on this readmission?" Lincoln questioned, his voice steady and calm. "You've been recuperating, so I've hesitated to include you in all of this disagreement…but I value your opinion."

"Well…" the blond blinked a few times, humming to himself as he gathered his thoughts. "I'm just glad to have the Southern states back. I guess I agree with your plan. It seems pretty effective, and reasonable. They weren't the enemy, so they shouldn't be treated like one."

Lincoln nodded appraisingly, seemingly reassured. But something else seemed to be on his mind. _The nightmare,_ America guessed, as it was pecking at the back of his mind, as well. Every time he looked at Lincoln he could see the lifeless form before him in the casket.

"I want you to promise me," Lincoln met his gaze then, grey fixing on blue. "That no matter what happens, you won't let this country fall apart again. I've seen you put through it, and I don't want you or any of my successors to have to deal with it again. I can not describe how unbearable it was, to see you in such pain, and unable to do anything about it.

"I'm not sure when I began to think of you as a son. Not in place of those I've lost, but in addition to." His president's voice was rough with emotion, what looked like tears shining ever so slightly in the corners of his eyes. "Two of my sons dead, another suffering beyond my control. I can not tell you how often I just wanted to wallow in my sorrows and forget the world. But that would've done no good, for myself or for anyone else."

America was quiet for awhile, trying to figure out a proper response. "That means a lot," he replied at length, a smile on his face. "But it's over now. And with any luck, it will never happen again. At the very least, you will never again have to go through that. You performed to the best of your abilities and beyond. I'll never forget you."

Lincoln returned the smile, not trusting himself to speak, as he brushed something from his eyes. America couldn't shake the feeling that their discussion had turned into some sort of goodbye.

* * *

"I regret to inform you, sir, but my wife and I will be unable to attend the play this evening," Grant related to Lincoln once their meeting had adjourned.

"No matter," Lincoln waved it off politely with a smile. "You deserve all the rest in the world for your service during our civil war."

Grant returned the expression with a laugh, shaking his head. "I could say the same to you, Mr. President. I hope you enjoy the performance." And with that he left along with the others, leaving Lincoln alone once again with his Nation.

"Maybe you shouldn't go either," America suggested, biting his lip. "Something just…doesn't feel right."

"Something hasn't felt right for quite awhile now," Lincoln sighed. "Ever since that damned dream. But don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing. And it will be a good distraction to get my mind off things."

"Just a feeling," America repeated, though he couldn't shake the sense that it was more than that it was more than that. But he was probably just being paranoid. Of course.

* * *

"I really don't think you should go," America advised again several hours later. He had expected the feeling of apprehension to dissipate with time, dismissing it as paranoia again and again. But no matter how much he tried to ignore it, it merely grew stronger.

His hesitance had been further increased when Mary had expressed her reluctance to go, weary from the carriage ride and dinner. Or at least that had been the excuse she had given. He knew there was more to it, knew that she was feeling the same uneasiness that he was, even if she didn't show it outright.

But Lincoln had shaken it off, claiming he needed a laugh, and would go with or without her. And, halfheartedly, she had agreed.

"I assure you, America," Lincoln pressed a hand to his Nation's shoulder, trying his best to be convincing, "that nothing is going to happen. It will be a good play, at best. A boring one at worst."

"I'm going with you, then," America declared, determination clear in the set of his jaw.

"Nonsense," Lincoln shook his head, locking eyes with the blond. "You need your rest. It's hardly been a few weeks since the war's end. You need to recover properly. Besides, Mary and I won't be going alone. Major Henry Rathbone and his fiancée, Clara Harris, will be joining us."

"I'll hardly be able to sleep, with this…_feeling_ that you're somehow in danger," America frowned, his tone taking on an almost pleading tone. "Lincoln, _please_ don't go. This doesn't feel right. Not at all."

Lincoln paused for a long time, obviously deep in thought. "I'm going," he announced finally, with his trademark calmness. "But you can come with us if you so wish."

America nodded, still not totally at ease.

The play was interesting. America nearly got into it, thinking himself a fool for being so anxious about this imaginary "danger". He had just been imagining things, worried about Lincoln after that strange dream. Perhaps it really had been nothing.

Lincoln and Mary were holding hands, inching closer as they were drawn into the play. America was so glad to see them at ease. The poor couple had been through too much. They deserved a break.

And that was when it happened. A man entered the box, a gun in his hand, anger on his face. America saw him enter, heard the click of the gun readying, and leapt to his feet, running to place himself in front of the president as soon as his mind began to register what was going on…

_Bang! _

_No…_

America could see the blood, dark against Lincoln's skin. A hole…

Mary was shrieking, clutching at Lincoln as he slumped over, limp. America stood frozen, rooted to the spot. His heart was too loud, the only thing he could hear apart from Mrs. Lincoln's screams.

"_Sic semper tyrannis!_" the man shouted, brandishing a dagger. He slashed at Rathbone's arm, right to the bone, before leaping from the box and fleeing across the stage.

_No…_

America stumbled forward, his legs nearly giving out on him, feeling again as weak as they had during the war.

_No…No no no!_

That was the only word that came to his mind, numb with shock and horror. There were shouts everywhere, chaos breaking in a tsunami. When he tripped over his own foot, crashing down hard onto the floor of the box, he felt the emotion well to the surface, bubbles erupting from a boiling water.

America screamed.

* * *

**Historical Notes: The legal questions of bringing the defeated Confederacy back into the Union were very complex. Since Southerners believed that secession was legal, they should have also believed that as they were out of the Union, they would have to be formally readmitted. Northerners should have taken the opposite stand, because they had fought to prove secession was illegal, and so the Southern states had never really left. Yet, the people of both sections did the opposite. Senator Charles Sumner and Congressman Thaddeus Stevens insisted that the Confederate states had "committed suicide" and should be treated like "conquered provinces." Lincoln believed the issue an unnerving and potentially dangerous concept, and tried to ignore it. **

**The process of readmission began in 1862, when Lincoln reappointed provisional governors for the parts of the South occupied by federal troops. On December 8, 1863, he issued a proclamation setting forth a general policy, in what became known as the "Ten percent Plan". With the exception of high Confederate officials and a few other special groups, all Southerners could reinstate themselves as United States citizens by simply taking a loyalty oath. When, in any state, a number equal to 10 percent of those voting in the 1860 selection had taken this pledge, they could set up a state government. This government must be republican, recognize "permanent freedom" of the slaves, and provide education for blacks. The plan, however, did not require that blacks be given the right to vote. **

**Lincoln realized that any government based on such a small minority of the population would be a "tangible nucleus which the remainder…may rally around as fast as it can," a sort of "puppet regime". The administrations established under this plan in Tennessee, Louisiana, and Arkansas were like eggs, as the fully reconstructed states were to a chicken. "We shall sooner have the fowl by hatching it than by smashing it," he remarked. Lincoln knew that, eventually, representatives of the southern states would return to Congress, and he wanted to lay the groundwork for a strong Republican party in the South. Yet he also understood that Congress had no intention of immediately seating representatives form the "10 percent" states. **

**The Radicals in Congress disliked the 10 percent plan, partly because of its moderation and partly because it allowed Lincoln to determine Union policy towards the recaptured Confederacy. In July 1864, they passed the Wade-Davis bill, which provided for constitutional conventions only after a majority of the others in a southern state had taken a loyalty oath. Confederate officials and anyone who has "voluntarily borne arms against the United States" were barred from voting in the election or serving at the convention. Besides prohibiting slavery, the new state constitutions would have to repudiate Confederate debts. Lincoln got rid of the Wade-Davis bill with a pocket veto, and there matters stood until Andrew Johnson succeeded him. **

**On April 14****th****, Lincoln held a Cabinet meeting at which postwar readjustment was discussed. That evening, while Lincoln was watching a performance of the play Our American Cousin at Ford's Theater, a half-mad actor, John Wilkes Booth, slipped into his box and shot him in the back of the head with a small pistol. Early the next morning, without having regained consciousness, Lincoln died. The murder was part of a complicated plot organized by die-hard pro-Southerners. "Seldom have fanatics displayed so little understanding of their own interests, for with Lincoln perished the South's best hope for a mild peace." After his body had been taken home to Illinois, the national mood hardened. **

**Apparently Lincoln had grey eyes. I just found this now, and I'm wishing I had earlier. Oh, the symbolism…**

**This is where I got my details on the death scene from: http://www(dot)eyewitnesstohistory(dot) ****com/ lincoln(dot)htm **

**Lincoln ;_;**

**And the link of the tidbit on the man who had the civil war start and end in his home, again from the wonderful **akuma-river. **Interesting website…spent quite some time on it. **

**http://www(dot)cracked(dot) com/article_18421_6-insane-coincidences-you-wont-believe-actually-happened_ ****p1(dot) html**

**And this thing on the similarities between Kennedy's assassination and Lincoln's that I thought was eerie and neat. I distract you from the sadness with fun links…**

**http://www(dot)meilach(dot) ****com/ samscorner/ president(dot)htm**

just another fma fan: **Awful luck indeed. Italian is pretty fun. Just easy as pie. For the time being, at any rate. Thank you for the review ^^**


	73. Announcement Numero Due!

All right. Obviously my wishes to start working on this story during the summer did not pan out. My computer has just had one random unfortunate problem after another, and it is not yet fixed.

However, as of last night, it did manage to get to the Windows screen, so it is on the way to being so! I still have to get all my documents back on it, and finish putting it together but…we're nearly there. As soon as it is back in proper working order, I hope to continue on with this story. And my textbook has arrived in the mail, in lovely condition. So all is well. Just taking a while.

I've also come to a very important conclusion after watching Capitalism: A Love Story and various other films of that nature with my dad this summer. The second half of America's history is not like the first. It is complicated. It gets complex, economy-filled, and quite a bit dark in places. Everyone knows about Washington. Everyone knows about Lincoln. Those are stories everyone has heard. But as we progress on into more modern times, this story is going to become increasingly difficult to write. It will become increasingly controversial and subject to opinion.

This is much larger project than I could have imagined when first taking it on. Washington's story is easy to tell: simple. As is Madison's and Jefferson's, and even to the point of the Civil War. It is the latter parts that will be more difficult, that will be the real challenge. All I ask is you bear with me when necessary (I am not a whiz in regards to the economy and whatnot by any means), and I will do my best to complete this undertaking :] I look forward to it.

And school is starting for me. Today actually. I've got to get going. Just, FYI. And I have college applications stuffs. So…yeah.

In the meantime, I recently posted Verin Mystal's giftfic, which is sort of a companion-fic to this one. It's about America and Lincoln's sons, appropriately titled "Lincoln's Sons".

And then, there is the story I have been writing this summer due to a mixture of boredom, inability to write anything historical, and just…emotional relief? It will vaguely detail my computer troubles via Japan, while adding a bit more. It's called "Technical Difficulties".

Shameless advertising is shameless. Anywho. That is all I have to say for now. Once again, I apologize for the wait, and I hope I will be back to this ASAP ^^ Take care!

**just another fma fan**: Lincoln's death scene was very sad :'[ I've reread it a few times while working on that one-shot and just…I'm glad you thought it was done well! I worry sometimes.

And I hope those links were fun ^^' It was completely unintentional to leave things this long, but at least I left you with thing to look at, yes?

Thank you with the luck on the finals ^-^ They went well!

**Ameila L. Jones**: Thank you very much :] I'm glad you're enjoying it!

As for tips on AP History…don't stress yourself out. A lot of the coursework may be hard, but the real nerve-wracking thing is the AP exam at the end of it. Make sure you study and know your stuff, but that you /sleep/ well enough before it. That was my problem. I freaked myself out studying too much, and thus, nearly fell asleep during it. I wish you the best of luck in that!


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